A Game of Deception
by Spritefire Of 7 Days
Summary: Pitch Black is a breath away from fading when he stumbles upon a deadly ally, a child slavery escapee with a dangerous secret. Armed with this lethal shape-shifter, Pitch is ready to get his revenge on the Guardians. But the secrets the little boy reveals could change his plans. Will Pitch finally defeat the Guardians? Or will he follow these strange, fatherly instincts?
1. Chapter 1

Darkness. Everywhere, everything. The kind of darkness that chokes, creeping down throats and clinging there to the point where every exhale feels ripped from the lungs and every inhale crammed in a space too small to hold. Its the kind that sparks dread and claustrophobia and fear.

And then a little moonlight appeared.

Not much, just a little dot really such a small, trifle, fragile thing. But it was enough. Enough to drag the shadows to the outside and to force the great white face through. On the cloudy night, the Moon took a breath, appearing long enough to find one lonely boy, lying crooked and alone in the alleyway of a cold, heartless city.

It's beams brushed his broken body, healing shattered limbs and pierced heart. They laced gentle fingers through matted hair, turning it silky and silver, and they danced upon the shattered soul within, piecing it together and blessing it with powers unfathomable to man.

The clouds, furious with the moon for daring to disrupt the stillness before the storm, rumbled their protest and swarmed to patch the hole in their realm.

Sensing the last seconds, the Moon whispered a name upon the wind and held it's ground for a moment more. The last whisper floated easily down to the earth and to the new spirit of the Moon.

" _Iago_."

Silver eyes opened wide as fresh lungs heaved first breath, barely in time to witness the great white face disappear. Satisfied, the Moon sighed the name once more.

" _Iago_."

Blinking with confusion the boy sat up, the whispered name racing in his mind. After a moment, understanding replaced his confusion... Yes, he was Iago Deci, Spirit of... Something... just one lost soul in...

Where WAS he?

As if to answer his unspoken question, a carriage rolled by, the flickering lanterns casting enough light to view the filthy alleyway he, somehow clean and shimmery, laid in. Then they were gone, and Iago listened to the comforting clip-clop of hooves fade into the distance. Silence persisted in it's absence, until the little boy bailed to the dimly lit street as the shadows began their advance. His breath seemed to be the life of this street- harsh and ragged, from dreary doorstep to crumbling chimney. Silence was his only company, the carriage having vanished down some forlorn side street. He was truly alo-

"IAGO!" The thunder mocked the Moon.

Startled beyond reason, the spirit shot from the ground and climbed and climbed into the sky, intent on climbing until- a raindrop landed on his beak? No, until his heart stopped racing, that's when- ON HIS BEAK?

A whole new kind of surprised, Iago brought his hands- no, wings- up to his nose. And began to plummet. Realizing his mistake too late, Iago tried to right himself once more, but to no avail- his hands had returned and he had lost whatever flight instinct that had been. The rain chased him to the ground as he tumbled under gravity's influence, screaming the whole way. 'This is no way to die, pull yourself together Iago! PULL UP, PULL UP!'

Calling upon whatever instinct appeared first, Iago pulled up mere feet from the ground, flapping his brand new bat wings eccentrically. The rain caught up with him, drenching his puny body. The storms screamed and struck out in frustration, wreaking havoc upon a tiny, innocent home.

"I-AG-O!" The lightening blast temporarily deafened him, and threw his little bat body across the street and into a wall.

Gasping, Iago shook the water from his eyes and glanced fearfully at the burning home. People began swarming to put out the fire, and screams echoed from the raging flames. What had just happened to him? Where was his skin, his limbs, his hair? Where had this body come from, and this flight instinct?

He was not safe here, he needed to go, he needed to leave. He would find someplace quiet, where he could clear his head and think, find out who he was, how he had arrived here, how he had gotten this new skin, and the bird skin from before. And so, with a deep breath, Iago leaped back into the gale.

Rain battered his body and wind whipped his wings. He could not escape by air, and he wished he could call upon- a sopping wet man?

"Look out!" He screeched and braced for impact. A moment later than expected, Iago collided, but not with the man.

His human shoulder hit the ground hard, jarring his body. He rolled and rolled until, finally as filthy as the alleyway, momentum ground to a halt. He would be bruised for weeks, but that was irrelevant compared to this PAIN. The deepest, darkest chill anyone had ever felt raced through him. The following shudder violently attacked his body and he gasped in agony.

The man, while suddenly chilled to the bone, still stood, in fact rushing away.

This couldn't even be pain. After all, one has to EXIST to feel pain. As if to prove the point, a woman stepped clean through his abdomen, and Iago could only moan in horror. Shaking, Iago rose to his feet- a child ran through his shoulder, she and the spirit screaming at the same octave.

"Hello!?" One after another, people walked through his very being. "Somebody, help me!" Shudder after shudder, gasp after gasp. "Anybody, please-" He lunged for a man's leg only for his hand to sail clean through. "Please! You've got to help me!" To add insult to injury, a dog galloped into him, bounding away.

It was hopeless.

'How!? HOW can they not see me...?' Iago wondered as a little boy passed him by.

This sick, twisted joke of a life had to be the worst thing he could remember.

Which wasn't saying much, considering his best memory so far was a near brush with death.

How could someone try to imagine a life like this?

The fire cackled and the thunder roared with laughter. Even the wind got in on the game-

"Iaaaaaaaagoooooooo!"

The emptiness inside crushed him into deep despair, and the fear was overwhelming.

"Help me!" Iago cries once more, not expecting an answer, when he suddenly receives one.

"They can't hear you." Iago whirled around to see who spoke. At first, his mercury eyes could not find anyone, but soon he saw the pale skin glowing from the firelight. A tall, slender man in a black suit, only discernable from the darkness for his skin and sharp blue eyes. "They cannot hear us."

Iago's momentary, incredible relief was replaced almost immediately by a different kind of fear. Whereas before, he had been ruled by the dark pits of confusion, he was now under the sharp spark of danger, fearing for his safety. Iago simply cowered under the gaze, malevolent and scheming as it was. "Do not fear, I can take you to safety." The man held out a long, thin hand.

Something rippled violently in his chest, causing the young child to moan quietly. Somehow, Iago knew this man was lying- he had no idea how he knew, but he did. Instead of accepting the hand, Iago shook his head meekly, the water falling off his slick silver hair as he slowly backed away from the gentleman, who scoffed.

"So, what are you going to do? Stay out here!?" He gestured roughly to the burning building, the people stumbling around in the flickering light.

"IAGO! IAGO! IAGOOOO!" The young lad flinched heavily as the storm seemed to mock him. But he knew that he couldn't go with the man. He turned back to the man, shaking his head again and backing away more.

The man's forced smile quickly turned into a scowl, and his extended hand curled to a tight fist. "Fine. If you won't come easy, I'll make you." Iago's eyes widened when the man snapped his fingers, panic taking over. He turned on heel to sprint away, only to be to face to face with three hulking figures, mere silhouettes with their backs to the raging fire and a curtain of heavy rain between them.

With few choices and adrenaline in his veins, he felt his skin melting and reshaping. Before he knew what he was thinking, the long legs of a silver wolf took over, galloping out of the burning town, with the three growling shadows on his heel.

"IAGO! IAGO! IAGOOOO!" Galloping away from the fire and rain and wind and evil men.

"Iaaaaaaaagoooooooo!" Galloping onward, with nothing but the cold and fear to spur him forward towards his only choice- escape.


	2. Chapter 2

(Burgess)

"It doesn't snow in spring, Frost. Especially not after Easter, so go and process that through your thick, frozen cranium." A dark voice drifted from the shadows of an alleyway in Burgess.

If any had been awake, they would have seen the passing figure of a wandering shade as he grumbled to himself through chattering teeth. If any had cared they would have felt pity for the spirit now leaning heavily against a wall for support, rubbing his freezing arms with a false vigor. The sky above looked on in sympathy at the scene, for this man had once been great…had once been noble…now he was reduced to wandering the night like a lost soul…the once great Pitch Black, now reduced to hiding in alleyways. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Pitch's body was weak and his soul dim, his clothes tattered and his hair matted. From his waistline down, he had begun to fade and crack like the earth during a drought. He was so far gone, his feet had faded to the point that they were invisible to the naked eye. Not that there were any eyes to see him at all, of course- he wouldn't be so low if he still had believers. However, his downfall might also save his dignity. It wouldn't do for children to see his dishelved hair and red-rimmed eyes (although it might have the desired effect...), and where there were no children, there were no Guardians to mock his miserable existence.

What had once been the lair of the Lord of Shadows had been over-run by the Nightmares, and thus he had fled to a broken, pitiful shack outside the town. But taking his home had not been enough for the fear crazed equine; no, they continued to pursue him in his waking hours- Pitch could hear the unsettling clip-clop of their hooves in the distance even now. They stalked him relentlessly, his own creation, turned against him, a Nightmare Mutiny. The shadows had deserted him, leaving Pitch nothing but his invisible feet to travel by, which by effect meant around this one city. Things could be worse for the infamous Pitch Black, but he had no idea how…or when... or if, things would ever get better.

With a troubled sigh, Pitch turned down the alleyway back towards his temporary home.

The garbage reeked, only made worse by the puddles of melting snow they drowned in, so he made special care to avoid the filth at all cost. It didn't really matter, if there was no one to see him, they certainly couldn't smell him either. Nobody ever seemed to think that maybe spirits liked basic necessities for some reason, as if since they did not ever really need them, they never wanted them. But Pitch quite enjoyed a steaming hot shower, though he could not remember the last time he even had felt warm water against his skin. Or when the last time he ate- as a spirit, it wasn't necessary to eat, but it aided in the healing process, something that needed to hurry along if he wanted his revenge.

Oh yes. The very thought of dragging the Guardians into this filth was enough to make his dry, cracked lips curve into a desperate smile. Oh yes, yes, YES, he would make the Guardians suffer for bringing the Nightmare King to such an all-time low. Maybe he would skin the Easter Bunny, which would make a wonderful coat. Plaguing North's elves with sugar cookies would be worth a good laugh. Oh, and if only he could tie Frost to a mast and strike a fire under him! Now THAT would be fun-

Pitch abruptly came to a stop. He had made it to the wood's edge by now, a dry breeze rattling the dead branches eerily.

What had HAPPENED to him? Even his revenge ideas had become low. When had such pathetic, childish thoughts become acceptable…- he paused in his self-loathing when something ahead caught his attention. Golden eyes gleamed when his brain registered what it was…

A child.

Before he knew his feet had moved, Pitch was by the child's side, the spirit scanning the young one with scrutinizing eyes. There, a small boy with silver hair and brown, tattered riding cloak laid absolutely still in a snow drift just inside the woods, barely ten feet from the footpath Pitch had used to get 'home' time and time again. He was obviously a spirit, his attire from another time, and his hair possessed an unnatural glimmer to the already unnatural silver colour.

Without thinking the spirit knelt to one knee, his shredded cloak spreading out on the white snow like oil. Hesitant fingers reached towards the still child…abruptly Pitch snatched his hand back, almost as if he had just realized what he was doing.

"Pitch!" He scolded himself. "What in the nine realms, he is no concern of yours."

However, the spirit couldn't help another glance, the child was so young! How could anyone be expected to just turn and… the spirit's eyes narrowed into slits when something around the boy's neck caught his eye. A feeling of ice settled in his stomach as he gently lifted the cold face (his frost-bitten nose infuriated Pitch tremendously) out of the snow and inspected the child's throat better. Yes, just as he had thought…a silver collar was fitted tightly around the boy's Adam's Apple, blank except for three ancient runes, the meanings of which Pitch had long forgotten.

Pitch rocked back on his heels and bit his lip. Of course he knew of the child slavery black market of the spirit realm, for it had been around as long as Pitch could remember, probably as long as spirits had been around. He had never participated, even thought of it a barbaric practice for that matter- however, it was impossible for him to ignore its effectiveness.

The only people who owned slaves were high up on the social ladder, so high that sometimes the peasants didn't know they existed. Each had its own set of mercenaries, and anyone who protested or openly accused them of slave abuse were sentencing themselves to be found dead on the side of the road. Of course slaves were abused, even though it was illegal to do so, but when the law is funded by the law breakers, there becomes a gap in what is right and wrong. Orphans, usually homeless, were swept off the streets for a show of bravado and popularity raise, then collared and sent to work. With no one to claim the children, no law was broken and legalities were left at that.

Beyond that, Pitch had no real idea of the ins and outs of this side of the Realm- he simply avoided it and left it at that… His thoughts returned again to the child, and he panicked slightly when he noticed the boy's chest was still…was the child even breathing anymore?

Only by laying his head on the boy's faded, threadbare shirt could Pitch detect the faint rise and fall of his chest. Screw a pulse, it was invisible as Pitch's two feet. There was some sound beyond the heartbeat though, a faint sloshing sound, almost like-

Pitch's head shot up in alarm.

Water. There was water in the boy's lungs.

How long had the child been laying in the snow? Had he been there when Pitch had passed by some three hours ago? How much longer was Pitch going to let him stay there?

"WHOA whoa, whoa!" Pitch stood up and stepped away. "Slow down Pitch." The spirit scolded himself since no one else was around to do so "You're not doing ANYTHING. He belongs to someone. Law is that slaves that are found are to be turned back in." Now wholly berated the spirit looked around the empty forest "Hey!" Pitch shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Waiting a moment with no response but his echo, Pitch turned east. "HELLO!?" Then west. "I FOUND YOUR- uh, KID!" Nothing but his echo called back- kid... kid... kid...

"Maybe the kid escaped?" Pitch exhaled…that 'complicated' things.

Pitch turned back to the boy. It was almost impossible to see his chest rise and fall. His nose, fingers, and bare toes were turning blue. The water in his chest was settling. Too much longer and this boy would DIE.

Contrary to popular belief, Pitch Black, King of Nightmares as he may be- or, at least, once was- did not hate children. Pitch was an embodiment of fear. Taking advantage of their malleable minds could not be avoided. It was not his fault that children's vivid imaginations were more vulnerable to fear than the rational minds of adults. It was not his fault that children feared him- in fact, they hated HIM, not the other way around.

For that reason, Pitch knew there would be no gratitude from the child for saving his life, only terror. He should just walk away and let someone else take care of it...

Where's a Guardian when you need one?

Yes, where WERE the Guardians, now that a child was in life or death peril? There was only Pitch and this boy. All that protecting they did when reasonable fear was around, but now, now that a child was about to die for no reason, there was not so much as a flutter of wings or a speck of dreamsand to be seen. No one but this boy. And Pitch.

"I should just walk away." Pitch made it to the top of the rise before he bailed, rushing back to the boy and muttering again "I should just walk away." Ever so carefully, Pitch cradled the boys head under one arm and the crook of his knees with the other. The boy weighed nothing, not even to a weak Lord of Fear. He could feel the tiny ribs through both of their shirts.

"What am I doing?" Pitch hissed through gritted teeth, annoyed and disappointed in himself for going soft. "I am the Boogeyman- I couldn't care less for the wellbeing of a child." Why was he so drawn to the tiny spirit in his arms?

Now that he thought about it, the sense of attachment was an actual, physical call. It was an intoxicating feeling, and the longer he held this boy- whose physical appearance did not trump the age of eight- the stronger it felt, spreading from his chest to his arms and legs, to his fingers and toes, and finally to his head where he drew in a relieved breath- it was fear. The boy in his arms was unconscious, but even with no sense of awareness the boy was shrouded in a multitude fears. Not just a thin sense of paranoia either- deep, strong fears. With the boy being smooth knocked out, there was no way to identify what the origin of these fears were, or just how powerful they were- but for fear to cling to the very threads of person… The lives of those few were always tragic.

And Pitch could not help but feed from the boy's fear. Already he felt less tired and able to think much more clearly. He was starving of fear, and to find it so easily available without any sort of resistance, he was feeding ravenously, a feral beast within his soul taking no mercy at the expense of its own survival- He inhaled sharply through his nose, staring down at the tiny boy in his arms. A mixture of guilt and wounded pride clung to his mind, ashamed of feeding off a soul unable to defend itself- it was low, it was cowardly, and it was disgraceful. He would NOT feed on a helpless being. Pitch traveled at a brisk walk, neither him nor the boy uttering a sound the whole way.

It wasn't much, just a set of four walls, a small, trifle, fragile structure of an old, abandoned hunting lodge. But it was enough for now. Enough to keep it's one (now two) residents dry and safe from the harsh winds. The door was unlocked, it's deadbolt having fallen off some years ago, and its bloated form slouched against the doorway. Pitch shoved it open with a shoulder and closed it behind him with a nudge of his hip. In the dark, Pitch waited a moment and fell into deep thought- what could he POSSIBLY offer this child, as weak and poor as he was?

A chance.

Which was more than what the Guardians were offering at this point.

However, even with his pride, Pitch knew beyond a shadow of a doubt…he was going to need some help.


	3. Chapter 3

(Across the World)

While in Burgess snow falling during the spring season was slightly unusual, overseas snow in spring time was a common occurrence in Norway. In fact, eight feet of the soft white powder had settled on the high rises of the Scandinavian Mountains, home to only the toughest creatures, men, and spirits. Nestled snugly in the shoulders of the mighty mountain range, a large building stood against the howling wind. Inside one room on the third and uppermost story, a spirit sat at a large expensive desk, mounds of papers stacked all over it's dark wood surface. Dim light reflected off the spirit's black hair which had been pulled back into a professional mid back ponytail.

"Gods this is taking forever…but then again this is what I get for leaving an incompetent moron in charge while I was away." He let loose a frustrated sigh. When he had walked in this morning, he had been finely dressed- but now the black jacket was thrown over the back of his chair, his red button down crinkled, and his silver tie loose. He had been at this for nearly three hours now… and he needed a drink.

Without so much as a glance from the paperwork, a long, pale hand rang a small silver bell, it's chime echoing across the huge, dimly lit office. With a clink, the bell fell to the desk as the fingers dropped it, signing the trade-off contract of one of his slaves.

Minutes ticked by, echoed from the grand clock upon the wall.

With a tremendous sigh from thin lips, a pair of startling blue eyes glanced to the thick mahogany French doors across the room. His eyes narrowing in anger- had his absence not only brought about more paperwork, but the slaves forgetting all the 'lessons' they had been taught? Where was that silver haired lad he had trained so well? Finding him that day almost three hundred years ago had been the best bout of good luck he had seen since then, but now, it seemed the little rat had grown soft.

Dark brows furrowed at the ceiling as he rang the bell again, more insistently this time.

A fireplace to the right of the room and some candles on the desk cast shadows across the room. It was dark outside the floor to ceiling, wall to wall window, but on a cloudless day one could see the Scandinavian Mountains roll away from the mountain pass, a beautiful palette of greens and golds, grays and whites. This rest-stop was a prime retreat for traveling spirits, as it was perfectly placed in a rare cove, safe from the harsh winds of the upper atmosphere. Spirits relied on it as a safe, cozy place to rest and recover, hidden from the eye of the mortals.

The brooding spirit was startled from his head by the clunk of his office door opening.

Well it's about damn time-" His teeth clacked together as his jaw abruptly shut. "Oh. Hello Innocence."

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Ignorance." The younger spirit calmly replied as he shut the door behind him. The new spirit glanced around the office, the beautiful mahogany that ran throughout the room glistening from the desk to the bookshelves that lined one entire wall.

"After the shit I've had deal with today Innocence I can talk ever how I damn well please!"

It was often said that whatever one of the brothers was, the other wasn't.

Where as Ignorance was harsh and cold, Innocence was warm and friendly. Even the luminous blue eyes they shared where different, one brittle and calculating, the other open and honest. The only thing they shared was they co-ran the hotel together. While Ignorance kept the business running, Innocence was keeping the customers coming.

The brother's ran the hotel like a well-oiled team, both in complete agreement, every decision a unanimous one…well, at least, _most_ every decision. One that had nearly brought about the fall of the hotel was Ignorance wanting to keep slaves on grounds. It had been one of their few but resonating disagreements- in fact it had only been resolved when Ignorance pointed out that they were actually doing the poor orphans a favor by teaching them work ethic and giving them a warm place to stay. He had even set up an adoption program which, much to Innocence's approval, had actually found many of the children homes…even though 'curiously' Ignorance had never let him participate in the adoption process. But then, his brother was in charge of that aspect of the hotel…

It is true what they say…innocence is blind…

"You've been ringing that bell a good five minutes' brother. Is something wrong?" While polar opposites, yes, Innocence could not help but look up to his older brother, his hero, his idol. He mocked Ignorance's black jacket and red shirt for white and blue, he even matched his silver tie. A white fedora rested crookedly atop his short, fluffy, bleach white hair, the blue shirt highlighting his eyes.

Ignorance glanced at the silver trinket in his hand before stowing it away in his desk drawer.

"I forget." Was his bland reply. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. "Sit, please sit. Now-" he continued as Innocence sank gratefully into one of the two armchairs before him. "-what about you? Can I help you?"

"No, I just thought you would like to know that Adrian- the traveling merchant from Denmark, we've had this discussion before! Anyways, Adrian has returned with new furs if you are interested. Saw a few phoenix feather quills-"

"Ah!" Suddenly Ignorance startled quietly, his hand rushing to retrieve something from his back pocket. He withdrew a palm sized stone in which a single, glowing rune was etched, the likes of which Ignorance drew a thumb across. He ignored his brother's ramblings as he focused his mind on what message the stone was sending to him.

An image of a silver haired child filled his mind, deep snow falling around him. Stone gray fingers brushed the child's cheek, cradling his head from the freezing snow. Ignorance inhaled sharply when the silhouette of the person aiding the child could be seen, for he knew that shadow anywhere…

Pitch Black.

"Well shit." Ignorance blinked the image away, the stone having performed its duty.

"Ignorance!" His brother reeled, not expecting the outburst from the sibling he had thought had been listening to him. "That was NOT necessary!"

At the sound of his brother's voice, a faint idea sparked in the madly rushing gears of Ignorance's brain. Just an idea- if he was to get that slave back, maybe, just maybe he could... He would have to think this one up fast...

"Oh but it is."

Innocence cocked a head questioningly.

'Too easy...' Ignorance forced a grim smile as he continued. "Innocence." He cooed gently. "You know it is my job to keep the dark and its contents from the eye of humanity."

Innocence smiled broadly and nodded.

Ignorance rose from his chair and strode around the desk, sitting upon it's flat surface. " It is my job to keep the mortals focused on the good things in life, as long as I can. That includes keeping monsters from mingling among them." Here he added a troubled frown for theatrical emphasis. "I did not do a very good job of it."

"Oh but you do, brother!" Innocence retorted, standing from his seat. "You do an excellent job!"

"Sit." Ignorance's voice held a sharp tone

Innocence's soft, handsome jaw slowly shut and his warm eyes filled with worry as he slowly sat back down.

Ignorance leaned forward until he towered over Innocence, filling his voice with authority and 'fear'. "You cannot so much as whisper a word of what I am about to tell you. It could ruin, if not end, my life if word got out. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Of course." Came the soft reply.

Ignorance glanced suspiciously at the doors, then the vent, then the window- for the con of course- before continuing "I found not too long ago in my travels what might be the deadliest monster to exist in the realm." The spirit let his voice lower, shame crossing his face. "However…I could not bring myself to dispose of it…so instead I bound it with a suppression collar and placed it under lock and key."

"NO!" Innocence leaped to his feet. "How could you brother!?"

"I had hoped to change the monster Innocence!" Ignorance placed a hand to his forehead, as if trying to hold back a headache, "I foolishly thought there was a shred of good still residing in the monster…however he was beyond help. I had planned to send it into the Beyond…but before I could… it has escaped from my grasp."

Innocence's eyes widened in horror "We have to warn…"

"Sit down you damned fool-"

"Brother!"

"SIT DOWN!" Ignorance snapped harshly. "And let me finish. It's not solely my fault, after all." Blue and blue glowered until younger sat once more. "You see, this monster did not escape from me… " A pause for dramatic influence (older almost laughed at the younger's attentive expression). "-No… it was STOLEN!"

"Who!? Who dared do such a thing." Innocence's voice was low, the spirit at a loss at who would even dream of taking such a horrible thing.

Ignorance crossed his legs at the knee and propped an elbow upon them, picking his finger nail.

"Perhaps you remember a certain Lord of Fear."

Innocence slowly rose as his friendly eyes faded to fury. "Pitch Black." He growled. "How do we find him?"

Ignorance smiled grimly "Where there is fear, belief is not." Ignorance raised an eyebrow at his brother's confused expression. "The Guardians of Childhood, Innocence, the Guardians. If anyone can find him, it's them. Go to the North Pole, where you should find Nicholas Saint North. The children are in danger and only they can save them. Send them my uttermost apologies, and my lifelong debt."

"I will, brother."

"Thank you... Brother."

Innocence smiled broadly, then turned serious once more as he stormed out the door.

Ignorance waited until his door closed, till his brother's footsteps faded down the hall, and then a moment more to let this now mastered plan shine in his head.

"Yes." Ignorance strode silently to the window. "Thank you most deeply, little brother." His breath fogged up the glass, concealing the reflection of a malicious smile. "Thank you for recovering my property... and, if all goes well, a little more." He chuckled as coldly as the snow howled outside, as if both were amused with this game of deception…


	4. Chapter 4

(Burgess)

The sleepy sun rose over the small town of Burgess, illuminating the skies in pink and golden hues. Leafless birch and oak trees shivered with a dawn breeze, as if the awaking sun had yawned. The clouds of yesterday were gone and the blankets of powdery snow began to melt into thick, soupy puddles-

 _SPLASH_!

"Crikey! Cold feet cold feet _COLDFEET_!" A gray and black blur bounded through the forest, hauling a rickety contraption at 30 some odd miles per hour. "Frostbite, I should throttle ya for putting snow all over my fresh, new- _AYE_!" Aster E. Bunnymund leaped clean over a lake size puddle, the sled behind him jarring harshly as it landed.

"Mountain, how much farther?" The pooka shouted to the occupant riding in the sled he was pulling.

An elderly man in the basket of the sled suddenly jerked awake, barking "LEFT!" In a voice far too big for his tiny frame. His round blind eyes blinked owlishly from under thick bushy brows as silver as his long, matted hair. Thin, knobby fingers drew a fur shawl over his tattered, gray coat.

"Right..." Aster sighed as he began a slow, arcing turn to the left.

"NO, LEFT!" The spirit within the sled shouted retorted.

"I'm going left!" Bunny grated his teeth, starting to regret agreeing to help get the old man wherever it was he wanted to go today.

"RIGHT!"

"Wait, right or left!?"

"RIGHT!"

"But you said, left!"

"RIIIIIGHT!"

"Oh, forget it." It was pointless to argue with the Ol' Man of the Mountain. The guy was as senile as they came… "OH FOR PETE'S SAKE!" Bunny yelped as a pile of snow landed on his head bringing him from his thought.

"WHY IS THERE SNOW IN SPRING, ASTER!" Man hollered, chuckling.

"Because Jack Frost needs his butt kicked!" the Pooka shook his head in exasperation, "And when I see the little dingo I'm going to…"

"STOP!" Man screeched.

Startled, Bunny stopped his threat and piled on brakes, but momentum isn't as easy to halt and the sled slammed into his cotton-tailed rear. Suddenly the great Easter Bunny was in the lap of Ol' Man.

The sled raked and bounced along the rough terrain, sailing through a puddle. Bunny took the brunt of the freezing spray.

"TREE!" Man boomed, right in Aster's ear.

"OW, mate you can't just- TREE!" Both spirits braced for impact-

Birds took flight, cawing their discontent at being disturbed. At the base of the mighty oak, the rear of the sled crashed back down to earth, the front bent and broken beyond repair.

Man blinked, safely strapped to the basket, at the scene around him.

Plop. Bunny fell back into the sled from the tree, ears ringing. The Guardian's eyes narrowed when Ol' Man appeared above him.

"Rise and Shine, Aster! Come on, get up, upsey-daisy!"

Aster groaned, "Why do I always get hurt around you?" Suddenly, Bunny sat bolt upright. His ears twitched this way and that, the pooka hearing an unheard sound. "What the bloody hell does he want now…." The pooka growled slightly, "Look, Man, I've gotta go, North is calling for some reason. Are you gonna be-" he looked around in surprise.

Old Man of the Mountain was nowhere to be found. Bunny shrugged "Reckon so, then." And with a double tap of his foot, he disappeared down a hole.

* * *

Pitch Black was pacing, had been for nearly an hour now, golden eyes gleaming with anger slash anticipation. "Where the hell is he? He should have been here by now!" He was almost certain there was going to be a visible path in the rotting wood floor by the time his aid of choice arrived...

The spirit was in the middle of yet another track of pacing when a low knocking shook the front of his humble shack. The fragile door was almost ripped off its hinges by a frantic Boogeyman.

"What took so long!" He snapped at Old Man of the Mountain who stood blinking at him in the doorway. As the old spirit passed by him and into the house, Pitch added under his breath: "And when was the last time you bathed..."

"You're looking sharp too, Mr. Black." Came the man's curt reply. "Now, how is the boy you called me to see?"

Pitch blinked himself into composure. "Not good I am afraid."

"So I see." Man muttered when he came into view of the young spirit.

There on the floor lay the boy, wrapped in any and all things that could be considered warm from the shack. His nose was red and cracked, as were the tiny fingers that gripped the blanket in a vice like grip. His breaths were miniscule and gurgling, and he shook with each exhale. His silver hair was lustrous, despite the dirt and tangles, but not as shiny as the collar around his little neck, glinting evilly from the fireplace.

"You said in the Eagle Mail that you needed my herbal advice."

Pitch nodded at the mailman of the spirit realm. "Yes."

"But I've seen you help another with frostbite before..." The shade's head slowly swiveled to face the elderly man, his throat closed and his heart erratic. "Yes, I saw you help the poor girl, even if she didn't know it. She was so upset when her brother fell in, so confused and stunned, but it was you convinced her to get off the ice. You checked in on her, every once and a while, just to make sure she didn't do anything stupid." Old Man continued, even though he could almost see the Nightmare King's heart racing.

"And I saw you help her brother when he awoke. Calming him down in his own devastating blizzard. Reminding him when he didn't believe in you, when he had no one, that he shouldn't just give in.." Pitch startled when the man pointed a bony finger at him.

"This isn't the first time you've helped a child, Mr. Black." Man stared with gleaming, milky eyes at Pitch's mostly impassive face.

"H-how did you..." Pitch stuttered ever so slightly at the thought of his biggest secret in the hands of a man known for shouting things off mountaintops. Ol' Man simply chuckled as he shuffled over to the young spirit and inspected the band with his finger.

"Oh, Mr. Black." The spirit's voice echoed with wisdom. "My residence is high above. I am the Eagle Eye in the Sky. I see a lot from my vantage point." His face turned grim. "Children always have been your downfall."

"I couldn't leave him, Mountain. I couldn't just leave any of them. I came close this time, this close..." Pitch leaned against the doorway, as much for support as for attitude, and held his fingers an inch apart. "But... I felt like if I left this one behind... I would be leaving a piece of myself."

A log cracked from the flames in the silence that followed.

"Does that make any-" Pitch continued, hoping to get the spirit to respond.

"Silence."

The shade quirked an eyebrow at the interruption "Excuse me?"

"Name."

"Name what?" Pitch snapped, his eyes blazing in frustration.

"One shape."

"What is this, one of your games?" Pitch was not in the mood for the old spirit's shenanigans.

"You can be dense sometimes." Man huffed impatiently. Pitch tilted his head questioningly as Man ran his knobby finger over the three runes that had been etched into the child's collar.

"Silence- he cannot speak until the band is removed. Name- the band will disable if anyone says his name in his presence. One shape- self-explanatory, so he's probably an Animagus, or a Were-Something or other, maybe a vampire but I doubt it."

Pitch blinked sheepishly, "Oh."

"How dignified." Man snorted as he rose and brushed his hands together. "Don't bandage his frostbite and don't let him pick at the blisters. Keep the boy off his feet until that heals. Of course, you didn't need me to tell you that, now did you?"

"I found this kid in a snow drift, Mountain. I don't know his name. I can't help him. I should just turn him in to his owner-" Pitch sighed.

"You should." The spirit nodded, in false agreement.

"But I don't know who that is! It could be anyone!"

"Or you could keep him." Old Man continued as if Pitch had not spoken.

"Excuse me?" Pitch asked for the second time in the past five minutes.

Man of the Mountain smiled sadly "I have some teas for you to brew for him when he wakes. You could probably use some too. The steam will help clear out his lungs and the herbs will soothe his throat. Rub this aloe vera over his frostbite at least five times a day." After shoving a small, burlap bag in a very confused Boogeyman's hand, Ol' Man shuffled past him to the door.

"Mountain…" Pitch spoke without removing his gaze from the resting child.

Blind eyes rested on tar black hair.

"I'm not going to thank you. You've done me no favors by giving me options." Pitch waved a hand, "None the less, I'm sure this boy will thank you... someday."

Ol' Man was silent for a moment before he spoke softly, "I would suggest checking his pockets."

Pitch glanced over his shoulder at the elderly spirit.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have flown the coop empty handed. Maybe there will be something there that'll help you find his owner."

His stern words were empty, for Pitch could see their true meaning.

'or perhaps there is something there that'll help you free him...' The shade nodded his thanks.

"I meant what I said earlier." Man added. Pitch, assuming he was talking about finding the boy's owner, rolled his eyes. "You're looking sharp, Mr. Black. Better than recently."

Pitch turned to face him, puzzled beyond his limits, but Old Man of the Mountain was gone. Stunned, Pitch looked down upon his tattered robe, his shredded pants... and his visible feet.


	5. Chapter 5

Week One and over 250 views!? You guys are awesome! Anywhozals, read, review, and follow. And enjoy...

* * *

(North Pole)

Flying high above the earth amongst the white clouds that were his silent friends, Jack Frost was unaware of the mayhem his snow had brought upon two desolate spirits.

The frost sprite was as joyous as ever, giving a whoop of laughter as he allowed the wind to drop him some five hundred feet. The icy Arctic winds whipped his hair, tiny flakes of snow landing unnoticed in the mess.

At last, a building appeared before him, perched upon a steep crag. Its warm glow was inviting, and Jack helped himself to its comfort through a window.

Papers scattered across the workstations of yetis, who groaned and garbled their frustrations to the newly-arrived Spirit of Fun.

"Jack!" The giant shadow of a giant man passed over him. "Why you no use door?"

"Oh, hi North. Phil, Barry, Fred, Hector how you guys doing...?" The mentioned yetis glared at the cocky sprite.

With a sigh Nicholas Saint North closed the window once more, the spirit choosing to not even bother reprimanding the winter teen who was now moving around the room looking at things as if he had never seen them.

"North, mate, you owe me an extra carrot in my stocking this year." Bunny sauntered over to the man. "Told ya he'd come in through the window."

"I still hate you men laying bets." Toothiana called from above, wringing her hands anxiously.

Sandman, who had been a hair away from sleeping, floated over to her and pointed at himself, shaking his head. A bag of money appeared over his head then burst.

"True, Sandy didn't place any bets, shelia." Bunny smirked at the fairy when she rolled her eyes.

"Sorry North…I should have used the door I guess." Jack smiled sheepishly as he walked to North.

"Don't worry." The Cossack whispered in Jack's ear. "Come Christmas, he won't remember."

"I heard that!"

North quickly straightened, his lips puckering into a whistle.

"Gentlemen!" A loud, clean voice echoed across the Globe Room, as sweet and thick as honey.

"North."

The Russian glanced at Jack's face, the boy's expression one of fear.

"Who is that?" the winter spirit stiffened as the newcomer kept coming towards them.

"Jack this is…"

"INNOCENCE!" The Guardians, minus Jack and North, shouted as they caught sight of the man.

"Hello, Guardians." He laughed warmly. "It is good to see you again. You all look well-" Suddenly those vibrant blue eyes landed on Jack, who had seated himself upon his usual railing.

Blue eyes glared at Innocence with a narrowed, judging stare.

"Why hello." With smooth strides Innocence approached the speculating sprite. "And who are you?"

Jack didn't respond, instead holding his staff closer. This man... he didn't give off bad vibes, per say, but there was SOMETHING... amiss. He was too... professional. Too composed. The guy didn't seem evil, just wrongly... influenced, perhaps?

"Hmmm."

Jack was roused from his thoughts.

In the blink of an eye, this new spirit's entire demeanor changed. The hands that had been clasped before him were now shoved deep into pockets. His leg shifted to support more weight, giving him a casual tilt. He cocked his head sideways and smirked.

Unimpressed, Jack raised an eyebrow, but Innocence simply returned the gesture.

"The Kangaroo's fun to tease, isn't he?"

"Oy!" Bunny crossed his arms.

Jack smiled broadly at that, for anyone that liked messing with the pooka couldn't be all that bad.

The breath the other Guardians had been holding was released in relief when the boy held out his hand.

"Jack Frost, Spirit of Fun."

Innocence laughed as he clasped it lightly with his own "Innocence, spirit of- oh!" He paused a moment then chuckled. "Guess my name is self-explanatory, hmm?"

"I like you already." Jack grinned, his grip on his staff loosening slightly.

And just like that, the cheery mood of the new spirit turned distressed, the smile vanishing.

"I'm afraid that might change with my news..." Silence followed his statement. Turning sideways, he addressed all of the Guardians, who now looked on with solemn faces. "You all know my brother, Ignorance."

"Um-"

Tooth darted over and clamped a hand over Jack's mouth "You're not missing much,." She whispered, then released her hand.

Jack wanted to ask what she meant but wasn't able due to Innocence contiuning.

"He's been doing a pretty good job of keeping the monsters from the mortals, yes?"

Silent nods answered his rhetorical question.

"My brother has done his best and so far everything has gone fine…however never in our wildest dreams did we believe that any would STEAL a beast my brother had captured."

A great clamor broke out, Sandman and Innocence sharing a worried glance.

"WAAAAIT!" North bellowed, causing everyone within a ten foot radius of him- minus Bunny who would have done so 100 feet away- to clutch their ears.

The silence that followed seemed deathly.

"Innocence." North whispered, voice hoarse with fear. "Who? Who is culprit? Who would be brazen enough to take a monster?"

Innocence smiled grimly "An old friend of yours..."

This time, he was ready for a disturbance. Instead, none came.

Only Jack responded, with sigh "I bet Pitch is back."

Bingalingalingaling! Everyone startled, except for Sandman who was shaking a poor elf profusely. A crescent moon appeared above his head. Sure enough, the moon, full and bright, had appeared in the skylight above.

"Man in Moon!" North bellowed. "Sandy, put elf down."

"Remind me to bring you a bell next time I'm over..." Innocence whispered to the brooding spirit.

"Is true? Is Boogeyman back?"

The beams of light created a silhouette of an all too familiar Lord of Fear. Ice settled in the stomachs of the Guardians. The shadow split and changed into their outlines.

"Look, mate, we've already tried that! Why is he back so soon-"

The shadows merged.

Suddenly it was an outline of a dog, then a cat, then a bird, griffin, dragon, hydra, until they were shifting so fast you couldn't tell one from the other.

"Holy Mother of Pearl!" Innocence squeaked. "The monster is a shape-shifter! Oh, brother, how foolish you are."

"Wait wait wait." Jack held out his hands. "This isn't the sunniest news we've ever heard, but other than it being Pitch, why is this so awful?" He removed himself from the railing to stand next to the white-clad spirit, whom promptly put his hand atop Jack's shoulder.

"Because the monster and Pitch are allies now. Shape-shifters were said to be soulless, Mr. Frost. They were known for being ruthless killers, taking human forms and engulfing the souls of others to fuel their life essence. And my poor, innocent brother thought he could tame the last one...to help it get past it's killer nature."

"In the hands of Pitch..." Tooth whispered, but Bunny finished for her.

"The shadow rat could be unstoppable."

"NO!" North pointed a finger at Bunny, who leaned harshly away from it. "Sooner we find shape-shifter, less damage they do, Da?" North already had on his coat.

Everyone nodded determinedly.

"To the sleigh! Innocence, you too?"

"Ah ha no, I think I'll pass..."

"Lucky..." Bunnymund grumbled as he passed Innocence, who attempted to console him on his unfortante fate:

"My brother thanks you, Guardians... as I'm sure the children do too."

And as they went their separate ways, the Globe Room was suddenly empty. The moonlight silhouettes still changing, until they stopped on a child running from a shadow Innocence could have easily defined.

* * *

Oh, by the way, I am working on a special project for this story that I think you guys would like. Stay tuned!


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys, sorry for the delays life is a mess on this end. Throw a party, clean up after a party, throw up a christmas tree, clean up after the TREE cause you know what my tree is a cocky asshat. Like me. Takes one ta know one, right tree? *wink wink nudge nudge at my tree*

* * *

The tiny shack echoed with a voice of frustration as Pitch hurled insult after insult after the spirit that had left him hours ago. The Nightmare King was at his limit with people that said they'd help him but only confounded the situation with riddles.

"The best advice you can give me, Mountain!" Pitch shook his hand in air, wishing that Man were there to be on the receiving end of it. "Your best advice and I'm nowhere!" Pitch held his temples as he grit his teeth. "I am no closer to what I need to know now than when this entire debacle began."

With a sigh, the shade stood from his uncomfortable position on the rough, cold floor, his knees groaning in protest as he rose to his feet.

A fact the Pitch still was trying to wrap his mind around…he glanced down at his feet…His two, visible feet!

He stared in awe at the boy, shaking his head. He had a believer. An IMMORTAL believer, at that.

Pitch had almost forgotten what that felt like...

"Focus Pitch!" The spirit scolded himself. "What do you have to work with?"

Ash gray fingers lifted a black leather-bound book from the floor. The tome radiated with the aura of an age old, generation to generation artifact. The entire thing was in Norse, but the pictures, oil-pastel drawings of intricate detail, suggested a children's book, or maybe a book of folklore.

A Norwegian Grimm's Fairy Tales. The thought made Pitch chuckle.

But back to the book, he was rusty on his Norse so…biting his cheek, Pitch set down the book and retrieved the second trinket.

He held it out in front of his face, golden eyes staring at the necklace that dangled with a charm of sorts. The band was leather and the charm that hung from it appeared to be obsidian or some other indigenous rock.

Pitch placed the charm into his palm, and upon closer inspection the shade saw that it resembled a bird in shape, angled face forward and wings slightly outstretched. It was also a crude carving, the glimmering black surface peppered with pockets and uneven grooves.

This palm sized bird was certainly the simplest of the three objects.

Once satisfied that he had examined the object fully Pitch set the necklace aside, the charm making a soft 'clink' upon resting onto the cold floorboards.

Pitch then turned his attention to the final object, a square pyramid made of either the exact same or very similar to material as the bird.

However, this one was flawless, its surface smooth and even, minus a rune carved into each of the triangular faces. Its square base had a circle of convexed glass in it.

Pitch shook his head, for this one was certainly the most puzzling, yet blandest, of the three objects.

How the hell was he supposed to know what to do with just these three items?

He again glanced at the boy, who had not opened his eyes. The child had no food, no water, no money. So why did he have these things that seemed to hold no value what so ever… Either these trinkets had some hidden worth, or the kid was clueless.

"This is hopeless." Pitch groaned as he sat heavily to the floor. He placed his head in his hands.

The boy was still unconscious, and was developing a fever. While Pitch knew he had saved the child from immediate death, this little spirit still seemed dead set on BEING dead.

To make matters even worse, Jack Frost had paid Burgess another visit overnight (little did Pitch know the entire Guardian gang had flown overhead in the night, searching for signs of his nightmares, or better yet, the King of Nightmares himself.)

Temperatures had dropped below freezing and the fire in the shack wasn't enough anymore to keep the child warm. He really didn't notice anymore…due to having always lived in the cold shadows... but this child needed warmth to survive (another reason Pitch knew staying with him would be disastrous for the boy).

With snow was piling up on the weak roof of the shack (Pitch couldn't remove it fast enough in his freezing, hungry, weakened state), they couldn't stay here much longer, but Pitch was in no shape to move them both. And where would they go? Back to the Nightmare's Lair where everything wanted to kill him?

"I've rescued my own death sentence." With a defeated sigh the Lord of Fear threw the pyramid across the room. It bounced off the far wall and landed with a 'clunk' in the hallway.

'Pssssssss..."

The sound of released air reached the shades sensitive hearing.

"What in the Realm..." Pitch muttered as he rose to an apprehensive stand. Slowly, he rounded the corner and peered at the palm-sized, opened pyramid.

Two seams had appeared on the smooth surface, one just above and the other just below the runes, both wrapping around the solid part.

Curiosity perked, the shade glided over to the object and began to pick it up, thumb under the glass lens... thing, and his forefinger atop-

"OW you little-"

Pitch dropped his assailant and pressed the tip of his bleeding finger between his lips. Golden eyes glowering in accusation at the object that had just cut him.

Apparently, the top third of the pyramid had opened like a blooming flower, the tips just far enough apart that Pitch could just barely slide his pinkie in, if it weren't for the steel prong in the way.

With his other hand, he tried again, this time lifting it by the sides, and again he dropped it. This time, the top had spun a good forty-five degrees before locking into place with a click.

Patience wearing thin, ash gray fingers plucked it from the ground once more, and this time nothing changed.

"Hmm..." With a speculative sigh, Pitch brought the confusing solid back into the dim lighting of the fire and set it on the floor between the book and the necklace. As he sat down to think, his foot nudged the book open to a page with an illustration.

Golden eyes narrowed at the image, a shirtless man in dark pants with white hair and black wings atop his back. He kneeled among children and what seemed to be their pets of dogs, cats, ferrets, birds, even a fox.

A log cracked in the fire as Pitch mulled over the discovery, his gears turning at a furious pace.

"Jackpot." He grinned as an idea struck his reeling mind.

Pitch spent five hours carefully evaluating the images in that book, and it's a good thing too. He would never have noticed the trinket if he hadn't been looking for it specifically.

People, again with an even odder assortment of pets, were gathered around a bolt of purple light, swirling like a twister and hovering above the pyramids glass base. The top that had pricked Pitch's finger was stabbed into the dirt. The middle was offset from it, opened like a flower further along than the top, and the sides themselves were mirrors, with thin strands of the purple light reaching from somewhere within the pyramid.

"If that's what that does...if that's what it does." Pitch closed the book, biting his cheek. "For all I know though this could kill me."

The shade glanced around the shack that had served as his home for the past six months. It was cold, and dark, and damp, and weak. This HOUSE was going to kill him for sure. And the little spirit.

If worse came to worse, they would reach the Beyond a little faster.

Pitch smiled and his heart began to race. FINALLY, he would do something.

The revived Lord of Fear shoved the book into his robe and latched the charm around his neck. Delicately lifting the key to this purplish puzzle, the determined shade hurried over to the boy and knelt beside him.

"This better do SOMETHING." He muttered, then drove the prong into the rotting wood. It held. Delicately, his long fingers went to twist the wide base...

It didn't budge.

"DAMMIT!" Pitch slammed a fist into the floor. The boy didn't so much as flinch, but the pyramid did.

Pitch glared with narrowed eyes at the cocky pyramid that evidently thought clockwise was better than counter-clockwise.

With a roll of golden eyes, the fingers finished the job. After a 45 degree turn, the middle sprang open and Pitch was blinded by the tiny light. Hissing with impatience, Pitch jerked his head out of the dazzling light.

The middle segment had opened just like in the book, and the tiny beams of light converged to a large dot on the ceiling.

Pitch attempted to rotate the top, but the final piece resisted. However, he wasn't going to be fooled twice, and spun it the other way.

The shade pulled back just in time as a purple cone of light erupted from the tiny trinket. Shading his eyes, Pitch glanced at this intrusion, and the globe slowly spinning in its center.

If that wasn't universal for 'pick a destination', nothing was.

"Now's my chance..." Pitch marveled in a dream-like state. "I can find out where he was going! How do you operate this thing..." Frowning, slate-gray fingers lifted much smaller ones to the lens. Carefully, he placed a finger to the globe and thought his question, praying to the gods that was how this thing worked.

He almost shouted when the globe spun.

Pitch watched with fascination as it turned to North America and rapidly zoomed in on... the alcove where his old lair lay.

"He... he wanted to see... me?" His eyes widened in surprise. "The Boogeyman? But... but... NOBODY wants to see me! Especially not children. This boy has lost it..."

This was NOT his answer, this did NOT happen, NOBODY, EVER, paid the Boogeyman, Lord of Fear and King of Nightmares, a visit in their leisure time.

And yet...here the boy was. He had gotten his wish, even if he didn't know it yet.

The boy... was already at his destination.

Which left Pitch with his own question... what was his destination? Golden eyes blinked in surprise, his hard features softening as his realization dawned on him.

"Where can I get help for him?" Slender fingers tapped the pyramid's lens as Pitch simultaneously thought his question.

The globe zoomed in on Europe, too fast for Pitch to catch, before it imploded upon itself.

The particles hit the cone of light and it began to spin. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster until it stirred up a gale that whipped the tar black hair and watered golden eyes.

It grew brighter and louder, until Pitch closed his eyes from its intensity, till the shade could hear nothing but an insistent ringing in his ears. The warmth of the fire disappeared as the flames went out, and the great spirit found himself clenching the limp child to his chest, as much for warmth as to remind himself he hadn't floated out to space.

It took a moment, but soon Pitch came to realize there was a sound beyond his head by now, and the light beyond his eyes was diminishing. The was a CRACK! and Pitch felt several small somethings ricochet off his narrow shoulders.

Then almost instantly everything stopped.

Pitch let his eyes flutter open, landing upon the shattered pyramid on a stone floor.

"One time use only, huh?" Pitch Black gazed upon his new environment with greedy eyes, but a wave of disappointment welled up in his chest.

Leaves blew through the huge, two-story foyer, carried by a breeze that let itself in through gaping hole in the ceiling. Gray, monotone skies frowned upon the new pair of spirits.

It was somehow colder than in Burgess, and there was no one visible. Just him and the boy.

"Where the bloody hell AM I?" Pitch screamed in frustration to the unfeeling walls that now surrounded them.

* * *

While we're here, somebody go give frostofsummer a round of applause and their story a favorite because I don't know how this story would have made it without them. Seriously, somebody go and fist bump my editor.


	7. Chapter 7

Ello my friends, great to see you again- Bowser, no no No no NONONO BOWSER- OHMYGUSH... There goes my back. The struggles of a German Shepard owner. Ah yes, but how many of you have a dog that CLIMBS YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE!? Oh yes, special dog, DON'T THINK FOR A MINUTE I DON'T SEE YOUR COCKY EXPRESSION GET BACK HERE YOU GUILTY DOG-

* * *

Ol' Man reached with arms wide from the summit of Mount Everest to the starry sky, bathing in the moonlight. Blind eyes watered as the icy winds whipped past him. His grey coat billowed around his tiny frame, his silver hair flying behind him like a flag.

The moon shined down from the heavens above to the elderly, respected spirit below.

"MAN IN MOON!" The booming voice echoed across the empty mountain tops. "WHY!? WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT THIS CHILD TO YOUR HURTING SPIRIT!? YOU WILL GIVE PITCH NOTHING BUT GRIEF WHEN THE BOY'S OWNER RETURNS! WHY, MAN IN MOON, DO YOU DO THIS TO HIM!?"

The wind suddenly blew with a fury, moaning and screeching in his ears, pressing against the body of the pleading man, and yet the spirit did not bow.

Instead, another challenge emerged from his lips.

"I KNOW IT IS NOT MY PLACE TO QUESTION YOU MAN IN MOON! HOWEVER, WHEN YOU BRING PITCH'S SAFETY INTO THIS, WHEN YOU KNOW HE WILL YIELD TO HIS INSTINCTS, I CAN NOT HELP BUT DEFY YOUR DECISION! I WILL NOT CONTINUE WITH THIS UNTIL YOU TELL ME YOU HAVE GOOD INTENTIONS! TELL ME A GOOD OUTCOME WILL COME OF THIS AND I WILL OBEY!"

The wind died down to a whispering whistle, throwing Man's silver hair in frustration.

Blind eyes closed, listening to the cries of the gale. With a gasp, the milky orbs opened wide.

"Man in Moon..." he whispered, his voice no longer loud and challenging. "This is a dangerous game you play. I hope it ends the way you say it might, but I cannot, and you cannot expect me to, ignore what will become of them both if this delicate plan of yours goes askew."

The wind wailed in annoyance.

"MAN IN MOON, DO NOT TREAT ME LIKE THAT! I ONLY WANT WHAT IS BEST FOR PITCH, I'VE PRACTICALLY RAISED HIM HERE IN THE SPIRIT REALM!" Man cried in desperation. "PLEASE, SIR, YOUR PLAN COULD BREAK HIM! IF ANYTHING GOES WRONG, PITCH WILL DESTROY HIMSELF FROM THE INSIDE OUT! I BEG OF YOU, YOU CANNOT-"

A gale like no other swept across the mountain, shoving Man of the Mountain to the cold stone. It died quite suddenly, gently caressing the spirit in a desperate apology for striking out in anger.

"No, Moon." Ol' Man growled his voice shaking with rage. "You have spoken." And with a grunt, he rose once more.

The wail of an approaching breeze echoed around the summit, but Man held up a palm and it died with a flutter.

"No, no, I get it, OLD FRIEND! YOU'VE SAID ENOUGH!"

Wide, milky discs glared at the great white entity high above.

"But I will watch no more. I'm going to warn him." And with that, the tiny man began his slow march down the mountainside.

The wind howled and pressed the spirit against the rocky cliff face, begging and pleading against the spirit's intentions.

"ASTER!" The man howled over the shrieking gale, shoving his way down the faint trail. "ASTER, YOU'RE NEVER AROUND WHEN I NEED YOU*- OH, GERROFF ME!" Finally reaching the peak of frustration, Man of the Mountain whirled around to glare at the moon.

"RELEASE ME, ALMIGHTY MAN OF MOON!" The spirit sarcastically snarled.

The winds abruptly dropped. Silence settled on the Himalayas a moment, then one last sigh and the moon vanished behind a cloud.

"Good riddance.' Man snorted and trotted down the mountain side.

* * *

Man waddled around the foothills of the mountain, ancient trees casting looming shadows over him. The elderly spirit was deep in brooding, so lost his thoughts that he did not notice the complete silence of the woods.

The usual sounds of nightlife were strangely absent. No hooting of owls or scurrying of night time critters. Not even the wind, so powerful high above, uttered a breath in this dark atmosphere. Old Man of the Mountain was not aware of the silence until it was broken.

SNAP!

Man whirled towards the sound, hands raised in a defensive posture, but no onslaught came.

"WHO GOES THERE!" He cried in his booming voice, his echo among the empty trees his only reply. "Show yourself..." Man growled as he began a slow, steady, awkward gait down the mountain path.

"Hello there." A cold voice finally responded.

Man stiffened, his head cocked when the bushes to his right rustled as a man (if the voice was anything to go by) strode from there. In response to his emergance, the elderly spirit spun to face him, backing away a step.

"I don't have anything to steal."

The man simply laughed, a cruel, rolling, baritone laugh "Feisty for an old hoot, are we? No matter, I am not here to steal from you anyways."

"Who sent you?" Man's sightless eyes narrowed.

"Who would? Why would they?" the man's voice echoed with levity, it obvious that he was enjoying keeping the spirit in the dark.

"People are strange these days. They'd try just about anything." Man reasoned, and noticed with alarm he was reasoning to himself.

"Yes, I suppose they are."

"So who?" Man pressed again trying to get on answer.

The newcomer clicked his tongue. "'M 'fraid I can't say."

"If you are not here to swipe the clothes off my back, why ARE you here?"

"What, am I not allowed to wander in this bless'ed night?"

"Most don't." Man flatly replied, running out of reasons.

"And what you said earlier? That man these days are strange? What of that? I am just as man as those."

"Aye, but strangeness compels others into oddity." Man nodded to his own argument, then mentally kicked himself for such weakness.

"And you? What compels you out here?"

"Business." Man all but snarled.

"Ah."

Footsteps warned Man of his advancing, to which he backed down the trail step for step.

"Well it just so happens, I've ended up here on business too."

Milky eyes blinked as his pre-panicking mind snagged onto his implication.

"You see, I'm not here to swipe FROM you, But rather..."

The stranger snapped his fingers.

"To swipe YOU."

Foliage on all sides exploded into a flurry as ambushers responded to their cue.

Level headed, that was how he needed to fight. Man concentrated making sure to feel their footsteps through the earth and hear the 'fwoosh' of air they brought with them.

Letting instinct drive him, Man carved up and to the left with a rigid straight hand, leaning into his swing that caught an assailant in the jaw sending him tumbling backwards.

His extended leg tripped another into the dirt, to which the age old man took a step back, hard with his heel into the man's spine.

CRACK! That one was out for the game.

Man swung an elbow back, catching a third attacker in the gut. His other elbow landed hard on the bent assassin's skull, who promptly dropped dead.

Another out. How many more?

Not enough.

Panting, but standing, Man held his empty palms posed for another attempt. He was unsure of just how many men lay unconscious or dead around him, but it had been quite a few- Man was shaking with exhaustion.

Had he finished them all?

"You're good…" The cold, emotionless voice commented.

Man whirled towards his voice, but the blood rushing through his ears skewed his accuracy, thus he was terrified he wasn't actually facing the mercenary.

Man inhaled sharply in rising panic at the loss of a second sense, but that was his downfall. A rag reached under his nose, the aroma staggering his brain. He fought to stay standing, but in the end he lost the battle. And with an exhale of breath the old spirit succumbed to the potion soaked cloth.

"But I'm better."

Man groaned as his attacker's snarky comment followed him into blackness.

* * *

*"YOU'RE NEVER AROUND WHEN I NEED YOU!"~ Prince John speaking to Sir Hiss in Disney's© Robin Hood.

* * *

Ha ha ha... forget trying to catch him, I did something far worse. I put a sweater on him. He's staring at me right now, you know that look of OHMERGUSH IM SHO SHORRY PLEASE MAKE IT STHAP! I'm immune to that look. At any rate, hope you enjoyed my chapter! Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go find my cat... he needs to stay warm too!


	8. Chapter 8

Hello my lovelies! I hope you are enjoying my story so far, and if you are, well, you better get ready, cause the ball is a'rolling! Also, I strongly encourage you to review, I don't know what is acceptable to write without you guys! Enjoy!

* * *

Pitch sighed, unsure of where to go from here. He had already moved the boy to a sheltered region, one where the FUCKING ROOF wasn't caving in from tons of snow piled atop it.

And then an added bonus- when he had looked around his new abode and found the furniture here was still intact, untouched by rodents in search of warm residence.

Pitch paused a moment, for now that he thought about it there hadn't been any sign of wildlife… no bird nests in exposed crossbeams, no ivy climbing down walls, no mice or rats feasting on unattended cloth. Even the grass in the cracks of the marble slabs seemed dead. In fact the Nightmare King dared say that this place was devoid of any kind of life at all. Except now for him and the boy (who he was afraid would not live through the night).

At the thought of the lad Pitch quietly stepped to where he still lay. "What am I going to do with you..." the shade sighed as he knelt to a knee beside the boy. Ash gray fingers brushed a lock of silver hair from the cool porcelain face.

Cool Face...

"Wait a minute!" Pitch cried in shock, the spirit doing a double take, this time laying the back of his hand over the boy's forehead

Sure enough, the boy's fever had already dropped, and he wasn't shivering anymore either. In fact, the tiny hands had pushed one of the many blankets from around his face.

Pitch was at a loss…how had entering a rotting, abandoned house improved the boy's health!? One would have thought that it would have been the opposite…

He was pulled from his thought when a breeze blew through the sitting room, the only room in the first floor with no gaping ceiling.

Pitch began to feel compressed, stifled even, and the feeling of being surrounded pressed heavily on his lungs. Against his better judgment, Pitch got to his feet and left the room searching, for what he didn't know.

Pitch searched the black marble foyer for anything he could find- food, water, people, a CLUE as to where in the hell he was- but there was nothing to be found.

He paused at the only object that seemed of interest… a stone statue.

It stood in eight feet grandeur with nearly a three-foot stone base. The monument depicted the man which Pitch immediately recognized as the man from the folklore book, the one with long hair, who was sturdy built, well-muscled and fitted with giant wings. Whomever had carved the statue had done it so that those wings were splayed out behind the man, adding to his already impressive size. His left hand was raised before him in a two fingered salute to something only he could see. So focused on the wings and hands, Pitch almost missed the stone crow that was perched atop the man's shoulders. When he spotted it, the Nightmare King couldn't help but feel it seemed…out of place.

Pitch shook the thought and moved from the body to the head, and felt a ripple of emotion. Even in stone form the man's face held passion. It was soft, like one may find when looking into a father's face, yet there was an underlying seriousness that spoke of lesson's that needed to be taught.

A dull glimmer at the base caught golden eyes, which narrowed as Pitch took in the dusty plaque. The shade eyed his shredded sleeve ruefully.

"It's ruined anyways."

And with a determined breath, Pitch drew the cloth up his palm and rubbed out the dust with his wrist, coughing at the cloud that formed.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me? What is this, wood nymph poetry?" the shade hissed slightly, for any meeting he had with the creatures always involved them blathered on and on about nonsense for hours…this poem would surely do the same.

However, there wasn't much else to do in this gods forsaken place.

So with a roll of golden eyes, Pitch read the poem with a feeling of boredom:

"Our Iswald, the Great King,

Blessed with almighty wing

Upon his birth, weak and dying

A heavenly crow, upon hearing his crying,

Brought forth her own

To the heir of the throne,

Raked claw down each chest

And pressed young breast to breast

Until her own young had died

To let our bless'ed king survive.

King of Might, with wisdom born,

Looked upon thy nymphs with eyes of scorn

As they brought forth death upon our innocent men

And with armies eagerly amassed, approached the den

With every screech and howl and roar of their glade

To victory led without drawn blade!

Long King Iswald lived till the day

That he welcomed his time and flew away

With his eternal brethren of revered crows

In a murder so large a hurricane blows.

And left in his place

A sanctuary somewhere on the earthly face

For only our brethren to find!

No longer shall the shape-shifter hind

Be sold on the walls

As long as they reside within these halls!"

"Shape-shifter sanctuary?" Pitch whistled through his teeth. "Why here- Oh. My. Stars." Slowly the ashen face turned to the archway leading towards the child- towards the _shape-shifter_.

"One Shape! Holy shit!" The shade held his throbbing temples. "Oh Moon, what have I done!? I'm harboring a shape-shifter! I can't free him- the creature would kill me-!" The Nightmare King suddenly drew a breath when a fresh idea came to mind.

"Or maybe..."

He had heard the stories from a drunken fire nymph many, many years ago. Everyone in the village of this tavern assumed the man was stark-raving mad, but no one knew why.

Being a fear embodiment the Nightmare King was intrigued by the aura of terror that was radiating off of the man. So Pitch had offered the nymph a drink (which turned into several more) and listened to the man's harrowing tale.

The nymph preceded to paint a glorious picture of bravery and monsters. According the him the King of his village had ordered a shape-shifter hub to be burned to ashes, to leave not one behind.

Men eagerly had lined up, desperate to rid themselves of these soul-engulfing hostiles of dark magic.

The plan was set, they were to attack at dawn.

But alas a tongue had been loosened (with a little bit of feminist convincing, the nymph drunkenly and loudly announced) somewhere in the barracks, and word got around to the darker ones.

And before any were aware a mass of blood-thirsty, vengeful shape-shifters ambushed the crowds of fire nymphs in their sleep.

As the sole survivor of the failed extermination attempt, the nymph now reiterated the gruesome tale of fangs and claws ripping through chests and slashing throats. The shapeless, unspeakable monsters advancing with gleaming, hungry eyes that promised death to any caught in their gaze.

Upon ending his tale the man had passed out over the bar top, the alcohol finally numbing his pain to a stupor.

Pitch had left the tavern, knowing the poor young nymph would be forever tormented by the echoing screams and pooling blood. That he would never out drink the sounds of death and the smell of copper.

The shade had been right, and not a month after Pitch's conversation with him that night the young fire nymph drank himself to death.

Pitch had gone to that boy's funeral, paying respects to one who had lived their life in fear and torment.

And now, what may be the last of those murderous, lethal monsters was laying helpless in his grasp!

What a fool he would be not to take advantage of this opportunity!

"This shape-shifter was coming TO ME! It wanted MY orders! Ha! This could be the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Pitch was nearly bursting with excitement "This is-"

CAW!

Pitch whirled around in circles, startled and yet eager to meet the first sound he had heard in this forsaken place besides himself and the wind.

And yet... nothing was there beyond himself and the stone statue with its stone bird-

CAW!

Pitch jumped, staring at the stone bird- no. Not stone, just age old gray!

It turned its head to stare at him with a beady eye.

Yes, an age old crow, blind and scrawny, its plumage gray as ash.

The ghostly figure took flight, its wings flapping with some hidden strength. It banked sharply around Pitch, letting the very tip of the wing brush his ashen cheek.

As it past around, Pitch began to drown in a sensation he would later refer to as The After Enlightenment.

The entire world, no UNIVERSE, slowed to a crawl and began to glow with a soothing light as if existence was bathed in honey.

Those voices on the wind were REAL- the whispers filled the air, laughter of children and gossip of elders, mingling in a harmonious chime.

The bird seemed stuck in the real world, floating slowly before Pitch and trailing bands of light in its wake. The wings, moving as if through molasses, carved arcs of light that dimmed as he passed, until he alighted upon a railing at the end of the foyer.

In the floor he passed slowly above, there was a literal game of cat and mouse, where lithe cats would pounce upon tiny mice that erupted from their paws as felines.

A set of falcons dived from the second story railing on one side, swooping low and plucking cats and mice alike, before landing on the opposite side. They became human, feathers and fur melting to flesh seamlessly, boys and girls laughing their voiceless laughs.

Across the second floor walkways on either side, men and women, young and old, laughed at the game below them.

A sudden sound rang in Pitch's head, unnoticed by the strangers, like the echoing call of a gong.

The godly crow had spoken! It beckoned him to come! It desired him to follow.

Pitch gladly did so.

Secretly, and denied for years to come, the King of Nightmares relished his ache less state. He felt right and just, at the delicate, inconceivable, impossible point between hungry and full in power. His body wasn't sore and there was nothing but a void in his mind where his troubles had once laid.

Was this what satisfaction felt like? The immense feeling that he could run for miles on end without breaking a sweat, but was more inclined to just walk in loopy circles?

His stiff stride turned hurriedly casual, not wanting to keep his guide waiting.

A hulk of muscle and fur blew past him as he approached the awaiting crow.

It was a tiger, but not for long. It reared back mid-stride and became slender and delicate, until a beautiful woman arose from the furs.

Her hair...

Her eyes...

Was there any color to be seen in this dimension or realm or (as he would later refer to it) insight?

Pitch gazed around the grand hall with curiosity, awed by the marvel that everything was colorless here.

Nothing was anything more than ghostly outlines woven of golden silk. Everything gold, except the silver entity in a birdly shape. That was staring at him.

The shade quickly tried to put some form of apologetic speech on the table, but nothing made it past his conscious. Nothing came to mind, not one word, not one syllable, nothing at all. As if speech were not necessary in this 'insight'.

Now the woman was staring at him too.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but a joyous smile lit up her soft features. Her clear eyes stared deep into his own.

She strode to the spirit, her gown flowing about her. Drooping sleeves fluttered as she raised a slender hand to his chest, right above where his still beating heart lay.

Although this woman was a full foot shorter than him, the Lord of Fear felt small and inferior, a meek, insignificant figure being blessed by a _**goddess**_.

Her lips formed inaudible words, but Pitch heard her through a drop of insanity mixed with clarity.

'Thank you.' She whispered. 'Thank you...'

And with a small tinkle of laughter, she leaped passed him, her robe billowing about until nothing but a small owl remained. She coasted majestically through the archway where the child lay, over the heads of many others.

The gong sounded again, and the living spirit startled at the entity who now rested at the top of the railing, waiting at the head of the stairs before him.

Blinking, the shade called Pitch trotted up the stairs in a dream like state of mind.

He followed the silver god through a wide hallway with open doors on each side.

People with animals perched atop their shoulders- which, the spirit realized with a start, were PEOPLE- peered at him from the safety of their rooms with curious gazes.

But Pitch Black, the ash gray spirit there with the back hair and golden eyes that didn't belong in the world of the dead here, only had eyes for the god before him, who sat on a doorknob at the end of the hallway. The blind eyes stared patiently at him, encouraging and awaiting his approach.

The gray fingers, that now belong to someone else entirely, rested atop the brass handle as God Iswald hovered above him with unyielding patience.

The heavy French door made a solid clunk as the shade opened it, letting the God slide in before him into the blinding light.

The door shut itself with a heavy sigh.

* * *

The dreaded cliff strikes again BWHAHAHA!

Also, I am, like, SUPER STOKED about the fact that I'm only at chapter eight and I have 600+ views. At this rate, I don't give a damn if I'm Over-reacting.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello everyone once again. By now I'm sure you all hate me for making you sit all weekend and wonder well the hell Pitch ran off to DON'T KILL ME YET! PUT. THE. SWORDS. A. WAY! I'm here, its here, you know what why don't you just read the chapter I'll meet up with you later. You know, when you DON'T feel like skewering me!

* * *

(With Pitch)

The light beyond the door was blinding, but as the spirit stood a moment it became tolerable.

What the light revealed made the Spirit of Fear gape in awe.

Before him, growing straight out of the floor, was a MASSIVE weeping willow, it's purple-pink blossoms making curtains that swayed in a light breeze. The tree seemed to soar into the sky, where Pitch could not see where it ended even if he craned his head back as far as he could.

Light rained between the branches, dancing across dense grass and enormous roots.

There were no sounds of wildlife, but something far better. The spirit could only define it as what he imagined every type of wind chime together would sound like under the softest breeze. Different pitches of metal and wood and bamboo, ever so gently tapping its neighbor to create the symphony of sound that now delighted the air.

Where WAS he? Was he still in the mansion? There were no walls here, just the double French doors he had come through, with a three by three-foot square of the rotting gray planks that had donned the hallway.

The feeling of weightlessness was remarkable. Every other second the shade checked to be sure his visible feet still touched the ground.

The breeze ruffled the shade's hair playfully, bringing a shower of petals down upon him. Ash grey fingers reached out to them and gently grasped a cluster of the soft blossoms. He held them close, golden eyes peering down upon them with amazement.

They smelled like nutmeg. The scents of moonless, cloudless nights and rain drenched earth mingled with the familiar herb.

Pitch jumped when the air reverberated with the daunting sound of the gong

But where was Iswald?

Aimlessly, Pitch Black strode forward into the sheets of soft, swaying branches, eagerly yet distantly searching for his summoner. The Nightmare King paused suddenly at the sight that greeted him once he had entered the blossom curtain.

Before him lay the largest tree root of them all, at least twelve feet across and flat, it's grains flowing like a river. With nothing else to guide him, the tall immortal set off across the whitish grey surface, deeper into the dancing tendrils.

As Pitch went deeper, the branches became denser. The swirling lights above grew pleasantly dimmer, and the echoing wind chimes began to soften their singing, but nothing faded completely.

In fact, a cleaner, clearer light began to glow ahead of him.

It took the wanderer awhile to reach its source -Pitch was unsure of exactly how much time he had spent here, it seemed an irrelevant thing to take note of in this realm.

Finally, the shade reached the edge of the curtains, a sixty-foot diameter circle around a thirty-foot-wide trunk.

What he saw here Pitch knew that he would never forget for as long as he existed.

There was Iswald, in all his human glory!

Pitch's respect for the artists who created replicas of the being quickly reached record highs. It must have been near impossible for them to replicate him so closely! And even still, they did not even come close to displaying him equally, NOTHING COULD!

The man's long silvery white hair rested on broad shoulders, his bare chest and arms well but not excessively muscled. His dark pants were tattered at the ends, resting in shreds on his bare feet.

And the wings…oh the wings. They were massive! At least a twelve foot wingspan, probably more, the glimmering black of a healthy crow. Each individual feather twitched and fluttered, as if they had a mind of their own.

Golden eyes wandered up to the handsome face, wisdom and kindness reflected in silver eyes.

Iswald smiled gently, his thin lips rounding up at their corners, and beckoned with a wide, firm hand for Pitch to approach.

The awe-struck spirit ambled to a respectable distance from King Iswald, and could go no further -the man radiated with a fierce, glorious aura that declared other worldly power.

The warm eyes examined the shade with a puzzled, contemplating stare.

Pitch felt himself melt apart on the inside, and how he managed to stay on his feet was forever a mystery.

Iswald reached in a pocket and grasped something, pulling it out with diligent care. It was a necklace, with a pearl white bird dangling from a thin chain. Almost exactly like...

Pitch reached behind his neck and unclasped his own charm, holding its band before him for Iswald to see.

The king nodded and returned his to his pocket, and the shade followed his example. Then he looked upon Pitch with a renewed, grateful gaze.

The echoing gong sounded again, and this time the lips mouthed silent words to Pitch.

Pitch reeled as he heard thoughts that were not his own resonate within his skull.

 **' _Are you aware of what you have saved?'_**

Pitch pondered his question for a moment before silently replying, ' _I wasn't at first, but now I'm aware the boy is a shape-shifter..._ '

The king rumbled with laughter, which sounded like lowest B flat chime.

' ** _That is not what I meant._** '

' _I am afraid I don't understand, sir._ ' Had Pitch, the King of Nightmares, just 'sir'-ed somebody? That didn't sound like him at all...

' ** _We are indeed equals, you and I, both kings.'_**

The shade shrunk in embarrassment, not aware he had spoken... er, thought that out loud.

Iswald stepped down the root, closer to Pitch, and as he did so the smothering aura quieted somewhat ' ** _But I have much to thank you for._** '

' _I... I do not feel equal here. Nor comprehensive. You have to thank me? For what?_ ' Pitch felt like he should be frustrated, but couldn't conjure anything even resembling so.

' ** _You have not saved just any shape shifter, Mr. Black._** '

He had just been mister-ed. By Iswald. Pitch felt humbled.

' ** _You have saved the last of us.'_**

' _I-... I did?_ ' How dignified, self, how dignified.

' ** _And not just the last of my people, but the last of my kin as well._** '

While Pitch's baffled mind processed that, one of Iswald's large palms rested gently on his beating heart. Pitch gasped in a new found delight.

He was clean! Pitch stared down upon his hands, they way they had been. The healthy color hands were supposed to be. His sleeves were tattered, yes, but the trim was gold, the fabric a dark green silk. This is what he really, truely was!

There was a hiss from behind, and Kozmotis Pitchiner felt his blood run cold. He didn't dare look behind him, refusing to so much as glance at what he knew would his tar black, enraged captor.

' ** _I see you are troubled..._** '

Understatement.

' _ **And yet you still helped another in their time of need. I honor men like you, Mister Pitchiner.'**_

The General of the Golden Age blinked in surprise.

' ** _Men like you who can put their troubles aside and aid those who cannot aid themselves. Those are the men that I kept in my army. Those are the men I protected, and they protected those that I cared for in return. You are one of those men, Kozmotis Pitchiner, even if you do not believe it._** '

The revived man stared at the king with nothing but gratitude and respect, and the other did just the same.

' _ **You are under the protection of my kin. This sanctuary is as much yours as mine.**_ '

' _Thank you kindly..._ ' Abruptly his mind turned to the sanctuary and the boy still there. _'What is waiting for me back there?'_

' _ **A boy who needs you desperately.'**_

' _A boy. Not the monsters I've heard of._ ' Kozmotis felt terrible for saying it, but if the shape-shifters weren't monsters, what WERE they?

Iswald's face rang with understanding, but a wave of sadness swept over his soft features.

' ** _No, Mister Black. That time has passed._** ' And with that he removed his hand from the shades chest.

With a snap that sent Kozmotis to his knees with a cry of pain, the Fearlings lunged back to their puppet.

' ** _Thank you, Pitch Black._** ' Iswald's aura returned with a blinding light.

' _Wait! Please wait, come back. That time!? What-_ ' Pitch held his arm over his eyes, shielding them as the aura began to pulse, with increasing speed and brightness.

A zephyr ripped through curtains, flowers flying furiously. The slate grey hand desperately grasped a cluster as the aura sent him to the ground.

The light was infuriatingly bright, until white overcame his vision and the aura held him down. The chimes were screaming, getting tangled in each other's tunes until it was a faltering screech.

Nothing but white and noise until the dark and silence of unconsciousness took over.

* * *

When Pitch came to he was lying on rough, rotting, grey wooden floorboards.

Even though he grit his teeth and desperately tried to evenly measure his breathing, Pitch was powerless to stop the silent tears streaming from his eyes.

He hurt EVERYWHERE. His knees shrieked and his head rung with the might of a thousand church bells. Every muscle in his body felt taunt and sore.

His heart was pounding too damn hard and the air he inhaled raked down his throat and was littered with the disgusting stench of rotting wood and his own sweat, as well as the dirt and dust that itched his nose and watered his eyes.

Yes, it was the dust watering his eyes, not tears of pain.

What made it worse was that Pitch knew this was what he had felt like before. He had never known of anything better, and he DESPERATELY longed for that satisfaction and acheless state of the other realm.

Growling in frustration and grief, Pitch rolled to his other side, where he was face to face with a rotting base board. There was no grass or mighty roots rolling towards him, only a wall-

Abruptly Pitch sat up, staring at the image of the weeping willow that dominated the otherwise empty twenty foot wall.

The trunk was at the left, and at it's base sat the unforgettable figure of Iswald, as well as the tiger woman, who Pitch realized with a start had been the queen herself.

From the trunk, tendrils of well painted blossoms flowed across the wall, sometimes overlapping with chains of flowers that appeared from somewhere above the ceiling.

Each blossom had a name and two different years displaying the length of that ones life.

Suddenly the message of the king crawled forward into Pitch's thoughts.

 _The last of my kin..._

One of these would only have one year!

In a desperate attempt to get up and get moving at the same time, Pitch fell heavily against the wall towards the end of the blossoms that smelled only of mold and mildew. In rising agitation, Pitch began wildly scanning the names in search for the last living one.

"Peter, Damion, Lucas, Nymeria, Sylvania... Where is it!" His own voice sounded unfamiliar.

In a frantic haze Pitch searched the last petals until finally-

"Here!" His finger had almost passed right over it. Pitch whispered the name written there, tasting it, observing how his mouth uttered that four lettered, three syllable word.

"Iago..."

A masculine scream echoed across the manor. Pitch whirled in the direction of the sound as it stopped. With a hearty, longing sigh, Pitch glanced back upon the willow tree, the winged-king, and the beautiful queen. What would he give to have just stayed in the foyer with the careless souls?

Where the boy was.

With a determined glint in his eyes, Pitch barreled out the double French doors that squealed as he thrust them open. Back down the hallway, where the rooms held nothing to be seen but dust and mold.

But they were there. Watching, rejoicing in the life of their last brother, Pitch knew it well now.

They were in the foyer too. Where the stairs groaned in protest, the game had probably paused in celebration.

The statue saluted onward, the stone crow in its rightful place.

Finally, Pitch rounded the corner into the last archway.

Pitch froze in bewilderment and perhaps disturbance.

There on the floor was a black dog, panting wildly. A leg thickened and the tail narrowed, the muzzle shrank then curved. As the front legs became tiny and almost nonexistent, a pair of wings gave a solitary flap before melting back into an almost rat body.

The melting form of black tar solidified and grew color, first silver, then pale flesh, until the human boy from before remained. He fell on his side, moaning.

"Must find Master... must reach... Pitch... Black..." With a rasping exhale the boy lost consciousness again.

The Nightmare King shook his head at the child's whispered statement. "Child... you have lost your sense..." Pitch clutched his hand to his chest and heard a soft crunch. Blinking in surprise, golden eyes gazed down into his palm, widening as they beheld the soft, purplish pink petals of a weeping willow that smelled like nutmeg, "But thankfully…I haven't lost mine."

* * *

Is it safe to come out? *is hiding under table with Nerf gun* Yes? No more sharp spears? We're good? Okie Doke well now that THAT's over with- *throws Nerf gun in closet where sweater-nopeing cat is hiding*- TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME! Did you like it!?


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys, I'm not dead yet! Isn't that great!? I get to keep writing and you get to keep reading, it's a win-win situation! I mean, Chapter Ten and we are up to almost ONE THOUSAND VIEWS! You guys are awesome!

Anywhozals, we are back with Man of Mountain!

* * *

(With Man of Mountain)

"Where... ryone?... all th-... there?"

"Sir... h-he-... had no id..."

"EXCUS-"

"Please sir I-"

"SILENCE!"

 ** _CRACK!_**

"EHAAAAAAA!"

Old Man of the Mountain flinched at the resonating sound of a pained scream. That cry of pain sounded familiar... the spirit's thoughts turned from the scream to a more pressing issue…

Where was he? Who were these people?

Slowly it all returned to him.

The fighting.

The stranger in the woods.

Man in Moon's only half feasible plan.

"PLEASE SIR, I BEG OF YOU-"

 ** _CRACK!_**

The thud of the mercenary's body hitting the floor brought Man's attention to his own throbbing skull.

Nightshade powder.

Typical tool used by mercs to subdue their targets. But WHY him? It wasn't like he had anything of value to anyone…

"P-pah-pah-leease... Master, have m-mercy... I won't leh leh leh-t you down ah again!"

"You better not!"

The snarl of rage turned Ol' Man's blood to ice, it beheld SUCH a tone of ferocity and violence that it sounded as if this man was Terror personified.

"The ONE and ONLY reason you still have your life is because I need a huntsman now more than ever. HOWEVER-"

The stranger cried out in pain.

"-there are PLENTY of able body huntsman and trackers out there. DON'T-"

The poor victim yelped in agony as he was slammed into a wall.

"Disappoint me."

Master?... so whoever had taken him was a slave owner... Man knew where this was going.

"Get your sorry carcass out there, get a new crew, and GET ME THAT BOY!"

The man yelped as he was tossed to the floor.

SLAM! A heavy door attacked its corresponding doorway, followed by the clunk of a heavy duty lock.

There was silence a moment, but Man was not so easily fooled. The slave master was still there, no doubt looking him over and creating an estimated worth value.

Man's nose itched suddenly. There was rugged cloth over his head, a burlap sack most likely. He would have scratched the infuriating itch at the bridge of his nose, but his hands were restrained behind him, to the sides of a hearty chair. His arms had been locked at their elbows to the chair back, and his torso was wrapped in what felt like a dozen pounds of the same coarse rope, pinning him to the throne.

His knees had been tied together, and then his ankles bound to the chair legs.

All of the knots were expertly done, and excessively tight- even if his bonds were removed right then and there his hands wouldn't have enough circulation to scratch the increasingly uncomfortable itch.

The clip clop of fine, expensive shoes roused Man from his thoughts.

Scuff,... scuff,... scuff,... they approached him with long, slow strides.

Man almost startled when he suddenly felt a tense grip yank the rough burlap none too gently off his head.

"Stupid fools." The menacing voice hissed in displeasure. "Blinding a blind man. What's he going to do, SMELL his way out?"

Man blinked owlishly, lids slowly opening and closing over milky orbs, not even bothering to conceal his consciousness. He blinked a bit faster in surprise as he felt himself jabbed in the shoulder by a bony finger.

"Is that what you're planning on, old man? Sniffing your way out? Are you going to follow your scent out of my complex?" The cold voice barked a harsh laugh that sounded more like a wheeze of air. "Sorry, not today..." the voice lowered. "...not on my watch."

Man held his tongue, refusing to play this sick, twisted monster's game.

His captor snorted, the distinguished sound of hands landing on hips, no doubt on the waist band of some fancy slacks, following soon after.

"Well, he wasn't lying, you are as stubborn as a mule, you know that?"

Still Man did not reply.

"Of course you do." The man's voice held a tone of mirth to it, "At any rate, let's change the subject."

There was the grating sound of a chair being dragged, the man no doubt saddling the back.

"So... have you heard from that guy who was dragged under the earth by his own creation? Well… there are a lot of those…however this one is that guy, oh what's his name... you know the one the Guardians of Childhood are always stomping on? The, uh, Lord of Fear dude, remember him?"

Man held back a few mouthy, unwise comments knowing that the man before him was trying to bait him.

"Oh come on, old timer! It's gonna kill me, I know it! Something with a P... Pith... Pirth... P-something Bla- Pitch!" a loud snap filled the air, an unpleasantly satisfied sound as the man recalled the name. "Pitch Black, that's it."

Man felt himself stiffen despite his practical mind- if _ONLY_ this guy had actually forgotten the Nightmare King's name...

There was a creak as the man leaned into the chair back.

"So you _do_ know him?"

Man bit his tongue.

"Look, Man in Mountain, I respect you."

Man raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I've seen a snowy winter or two on more than enough ranges. Those are for tough guys like you and me.

"And your birds. Those friends of yours really keep my business flowing-"

"I NEVER WOULD HAVE LET THAT PASS THROUGH!" Man snapped in an unstoppable fury.

"It speaks!" Sarcasm rolled off this guy like an avalanche rolled down a mountain.

Man ground his teeth, "I had no idea what were in those letters…"

"You don't think I knew that? What you think I'd make it obvious? 'Oh here you go, your fresh slave will be there within the week.'? No, I'm not foolish."

"And yet you've kidnapped a well-known mailman and confessed your slavery business to him?"

The man laughed, a deep, sadistic gust of chopped air. The laughter rolled on and on, until Man began to wonder, despite himself, just _WHAT_ it was this guy had up his sleeve...

Finally his captor pulled himself together.

"Good one, old timer. But, your BIRDS run the letters, not you anymore." The room echoed as the man rose from his chair, and began a slow, predatorily march around Man.

"And you already know I'm a slave owner, don't you?

"Furthermore!..."

Rough, cruel hands grasped the back of Man's chair as the voice lowered to a deep, cold tone.

"...who knows you're here?"

Again Man felt his muscles tighten, despite his mind practically screaming at them to remain still- in the end, human instinct won over.

The man chuckled, retreating from Man's ear.

"Ooh, tough one, eh?"

Man surreptitiously tested the too tight cords around his wrists, wanting nothing more than to pop a good hit into that smug sigh of satisfaction.

"So, you are in a predicament, yes? What if I told you I am willing to give you an offer? A bargain deal, so to speak."

Man's brows furrowed in puzzlement as he tried to guess his captor's move.

"Here's how you play. YOU tell ME where Mister ' _Black_ '- " the man practically spit the name out. "- and the little evasive BRAT are... and I let you go."

Man could not help himself. He began to laugh. "Really? You REALLY expect me... to fall... for THAT? That, what's the catch? You're a liar and the answer's always no?"

"No catch."

Man stopped. What was this guy up to...

"You tell me where they are, and you walk away from here. Happy as lark, free as a bird, you name it. A location and you are on your way."

"I'm not buying it."

There was silence in the room for a minute.

"Fine."

Man straightened in his seat. "Fine? Is that it? No yelling, no torture, no chopping my back to bits with your fancy whip? Fine?"

"Fine."

Man bit his lip.

"What are you up to?"

"Let's start over." His captor sighed "Now, listen to me, and listen carefully."

"I am not aware that I have ever failed to listen."* Man tested his luck. It did not hold.

There was a scuffle and before the mailman of the Realm could determine where from, there was a thud and looming presence of a strong hand on the chair back, just over his right shoulder. Man refused to flinch.

His captor's breath smelled heavily of mint, but its raggedness made it a harsh, over powering stench. It was obvious the man was losing patience, and most likely time.

"Don't PLAY with me, old timer!" He hissed. "I KNOW you saw him! You were THERE, with that bumbling fool and _MY SLAVE_! You were there, you know where they are. You CAN. NOT. LIE. TO ME!"

Something round and hard was shoved into Man's restrained palm, a small stone with a- Man's blind eyes widened in understanding- 'Sighter's rune etched into its smooth surface.

The last message of the rune played in Man's mind, himself with Pitch, reading off the constraints with his finger on the band.

"Oh, you get it now, don't you? You can't fool me. I am going to get that slave back with or without your help, but I'm telling you now it will be much easier for you to just confess!"

Man's shoulders ached from being tense- the fact that this man was so justifiably confident stressed the already anxious spirit.

It was obvious the man only wanted the boy back to stay out of legal trouble. But even so, why did he sound so frantic...

"There's something about this boy, isn't there?"

Silence.

Man smiled "I wonder what makes him so special. Does it have anything to do with that one shape rune-"

"KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY SHAPE SHIFTER, YOU GREEDY DIRT BAG!"

 ** _CRACK!_**

Man cried out in pain and surprise as a whip arced across his faced, from the left corner of his mouth to his right ear. Ol' Man's head slumped to his shoulder, trying to staunch the copper-scented crimson from escaping.

The furious words echoed in his mind "Shape shifter?" He rasped. "I never... sssaid anything about..." Suddenly Man's mind snapped back to place and he smiled the best he could.

"The boy's a shape-shifter." Man began to laugh, an unstable, frightened laugh. "The boy! A shape shifter! It's no Moon damned wonder you are so worried..."

The thought of Pitch cradling the child's head filled his mind. Pitch was harboring a shape shifter...

Man knew it was a myth that all shape-shifters were evil and soulless. Man knew the true story of the shape shifters, the respectable ones that were slaughtered versus the power hungry soul thieves that slaughtered.

That boy was human, his true form revealed by the band- thus, he was of the pure ones.

No, that boy wasn't going to kill Pitch.

However the hunters that had been sent after the child would.

"We are both in a predicament, aren't we?" Man hissed in pain as he tried to speak fully. "Nobody knows I'm here, and you won't let me out with this knowledge. But, if word got out that there's a shape shifter on the loose... that's a spirit hunter's prize catch. We're on the same boat... aren't we?"

A pause. Then the thunk of the wooden whip handle against the floor.

"A sinking one at that."

"Do you have a plan, captain?" Man growled in anger and pain.

"Look, smart ass. I can keep that friend of yours out of trouble if you would just TELL ME where they are. I can deal with them if and when my slave is back on my property. When I get him back, it won't matter if you go yell about this from Mount Everest, you could go free."

Man pondered this, if he told the guy now, Pitch wouldn't have time to get attached to the boy. It would erase Man in Moon's plan completely. Ol' Man could explain everything once he got back! But...if Moon's plan did work in time…but Pitch was in danger NOW. He didn't have TIME to wait for Man in Moon's plan to develop.

"Final offer."

Man sighed and slumped, closing his blind eyes.

The master 'tsk'ed. "Fine, if that's how you want to be-"

"Burgess." Man blurted, he could hear the man pause in his step.

"Beg your pardon?"

Man opened his eyes and faced the man "They're in Burgess, Massachusetts of North America. A tiny shack in the woods to the west of the town."

There was a long silence.

Suddenly there was the scuff scuff scuff again, and the bonds around his wrists were sawed gently off. Then one foot, then the other. The ropes collapsed from around his legs and fell off his arms. The ones on his chest plopped into his lap, which Man promptly shoved off. The elderly spirit rubbed his aching wrists, trying to resurrect lost circulation.

"There, that wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Man didn't reply.

"Whatever, I'm afraid I have to have you stay here until I have my slave back where he belongs. No offense, but you and Pitch are close, it wouldn't surprise me if you were leading me to a dead end."

There was a firm grip on Man's jaw and his face was shoved up to look the man in the eye.

"There's a price for that you know..."

Man simply scowled.

With a controlled chuckle, the man shoved the elderly face away.

"I will send someone in for you in a moment. In the meantime, thank you Mister Mountain."

And with that- CLUNK! SLAM! CLUNK!- the man was gone.

Leaving the old spirit alone whispering to no one "I didn't do it for you."

* * *

(Ignorance POV)

The black leather loafers clopped swiftly down the hall from the whipping chamber. The old oaf would have to be moved to a minor hotel room, but Ignorance considered that a small sacrifice.

Children on either side of him, from cages of iron bars and stone, windowless and dark, either cowered in his shadow cast from torches lined along the wall, or stood defiant and waiting for him at the front of their cells.

Ignorance paid them no heed. He trotted up the stairs and out of the holding cells in the second basement, the heavy steel door groaning in effort. The spirit followed the stair to the main floor, which opened up behind his secretary's desk.

The woodland nymph sat busily typing at a monitor, a satyr across the counter making disastrous attempts to flirt with her.

Ignorance felt a pride for her as she continued smoothly with her job.

But he couldn't just sit and watch. Pulling off his most furious glare, he stared at the obnoxious spirit until he happened to glance up and make eye contact. The hotel's co operator smiled threateningly as the satyr's jaw snapped shut like a trap.

"Ignorance!"

"Innocence, I thought I told you not to come down here." Ignorance inhaled sharply, knowing that his brother would be heavily opposed to his…techniques in getting information from a blind ancient spirit.

Innocence strode up beside him "I heard that you found someone that had seen the monster…I was just wondering if he told you where to find it."

Ignorance, still staring at the trembling satyr, simply replied "I got everything I needed."

"Really? He told you where to find him…without asking for anything?" Innocence made a face, he had been sure that the guy would ask for money for such a rare creature.

"He only asked to be allowed to stay in one of the rooms." Ignorance grinned at his quick conceived lie, "Would you be so kind to prepare one for him?"

"Of course brother." Innocence nodded, quickly leaving to follow instructions.

* * *

*footnote: direct quote from the Greek tragedy Antigone, written by Sophocles (496?-406 BC)

* * *

I love Innocence, does anybody else love Innocence? He's just so adorable! Anywhozals, REVIEW ME PLEASE I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS! Hooroo!


	11. Chapter 11

So I decided to release this one today instead of yesterday because we all were busy with Christmas yesterday, and I sure as heck am not posting on Sundays, just because that's rude. So, happy Saturday update guys! Hope you enjoy!

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(With Pitch)

Pitch had waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The shade had ambled around the manor for hours, then for days. Counting time spent by the shades of color the clouds glared down on him.

Pitch had spells where the silence screamed at him with the might of a thousand voices.

There were days the shade had spent craving fire.

There were days that Pitch revisited the room with the family tree and silently cried for each dead blossom.

The were days where Pitch sat under a hole in the ceiling and counted the blossoms in his palm.

Seven.

Still seven.

Seven again.

Six? Wait there it is, seven.

Seven.

Always seven.

Never six, never eight.

Then came the day when Pitch realized he was losing his mind. Oddly enough, he wasn't disturbed by this. It made his days a little more interesting.

Was this real, or that? Was that a hallucination? Was he dreaming?

He blamed it on the house, full of souls hiding from the Abyss, and doing a damn good job too.

He had been alone before, after all, and it never felt like this. Now he wasn't alone, not really, and they were wearing him down.

The next day Pitch had changed his mind and blamed Iswald.

If he hadn't shown Pitch the world of bliss the king lived in, the shade would be fine here. He hadn't felt the souls presence until Iswald revealed them and their grand lives.

The day after Pitch had apologized profusely to the statue and changed his mind again.

It was the boy's fault! Why did the kid HAVE to go and chase him down? Why had he been waiting for the Nightmare King- that IS what he had been doing after all. The child had fallen asleep by Pitch's footpath, probably plagued by exhaustion from running Moon knew how long, waiting for him.

On the seventh day, but what felt like the seventieth to the lost Ruler of Shadows, Pitch changed his mind for the last time and blamed himself for saving the boy and not turning a blind, ignorant eye to him. Curse himself and his foolishness! Pitch blamed himself for all of it…

With a sigh the shade roamed from one of the empty rooms back to the foyer, where he glanced longily at the statue located there. It was like a hateful reminder, spitefully filling his head with memories of a

Painless...

Glorious...

Satisfied life.

It saluted onward, the stone crow staring down with dead eyes at the lost, living shade.

While the statue seemed to honor him, the souls of the shifters around the room laughed. They laughed at him, no, to put it more accurately they cackled and threw orange and brown petals of outside trees that smelled only of dirt and mildew into the freshening air of the building.

Pitch however didn't get angry at the poor lost souls, in fact the shade had started talking to the attention deprived souls. The spirit's favorite shifter so far to talk to was a man that went by Lucias.

He listened paintly to the souls till he heard the voice of the man, "Lucias, how are you today?"

A smile ghosted onto the shade's face when the man's soul twisted around him, the shifter eagerly conversing with him.

Pitch and the invisible, inaudible soul spent hours talking.

From the stories the old soul whispered to the shade's own Pitch had been able to determine that Lucias was the great grandson of Iswald and had met the great king in person when they were living.

They talked about Iswald a lot.

Which was fine by Pitch, since he loved hearing about the stoic king and learning of the man's valor.

Occasionally though Lucias would turn the conversation to the boy…though it was mostly talk of healing and how close the child was to recovery.

Today was no different, Pitch inhaled when the soul again began speaking of the child. Pitch only paid half attention to what was being said, instead the shade reached into his robe and pulled several shards of broken glass out.

This was all that remained of the cursed collar that had been tight around the boy's neck. Pitch stared at the broken shards, looking at his broken reflection. He wasn't sure why he had kept them and hadn't swept them away…perhaps it was because he secretly enjoyed seeing his face (which was no long gaunt and reflective of a spirit starved).

Pitch was pulled from his musing by a sudden twinge in his heart, the spirit confused by the sensation. The shade quickly waved his hand, signaling to the souls that he was done talking for the day. Pitch hurriedly left the foyer and made his way back to the room where he had left the child. Something was off, Pitch could sense it…and he needed to make sure the child was okay.

Upon reaching the room the spirit instantly went into a state of panic- the couch that he laid the boy on was empty. The room completely silent now, void of even the child's shallow breath.

The Nightmare King began to search like a mad man, looking everywhere for the only other living soul in this thrice accursed "sanctuary". Pitch refused to be alone in this empty, highly populated prison! He wouldn't be able to stand it!

The final place Pitch checked was the enchanted family tree.

He sighed in relief, for there the child was, his lustrous hair laying half down his spine in a ponytail. The boy was facing the tree, sitting Indian style and whispering to the air.

Pitch waited patiently in the doorway, not wanting to disturb the boy's trance.

For a moment those amazing senses returned to Pitch, as if through an open window. The small breeze and the barely heard chimes whispering in his ear. The nutmeg scent vaguely reached him and he sighed in remorse, saddened that he was not fully enveloped within the shifter's heaven as he had been days ago.

Pitch's attention was pulled from his own longing when the boy suddenly jerked and rose to his feet.

"Yes sir." The child murmured as he bowed to the painting. His dainty hands brushed his torn capris and cloak before turning-

Right into Pitch's torso.

"AY!"

Pitch raised an eyebrow in mild amusement at the startled yelp of the boy. But it was quickly replaced by worry as the boy cowered at his feet, shifting uncontrollably.

He watched in sick fascination as individual limbs became different from one another. Pitch rocked back a step or two when a wave of fear hit into him from the quivering child.

"P-p-please..." a human mouth uttered before the boy's face shifted to a silver dog's muzzle and whined.

"Whoa whoa whoa, easy child." Pitch whispered calmly as the shifter contorted into a small feline, raising his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture.

The silver cat at his feet jerked, but the fear began to lessen and the shifting- from squirrel to bird- slowed a tad.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you..." Pitch knelt slowly down to one knee as the shape became human once more.

The boy shuffled a safe distance away and eyed him doubtfully, cocking his head and frowning.

"Fine, don't believe me." The shade snorted as he stood. "But you and I are the only ones alive here, so we better learn to get along." And with a huff he marched back down the hallway.

"All of that... for nothing...stupid-" Pitch began a long list of names under his breath. He was about to descend the stairs when he felt like he was being followed...

The Nightmare King whirled around and opened his mouth to tell the kid to bugger off, but he wasn't there. Golden eyes narrowed and he scowled as he glared down to his feet where mercury eyes stared up in curiosity. Why the hell was the boy on his knees?

"Did you save me?" The boy chirped with a voice of innocence.

Pitch nodded slowly.

"Are you..." The boy frowned and he bit his lip in frustration.

"Spit it out, kid." Pitch growled. The boy flinched and instantly the shade felt awful, but stubbornly held his ground.

"You're going to call me crazy..."

"I already do. You sat outside for hours in the snow and waited for the me, the Boogeyman, of all people. You are crazy, so don't stop now." Pitch snorted and began his descent. When he got to the bottom there was a little silver ferret staring at him from atop the railing.

Pitch scowled as it leaped off and morphed into the boy.

"Wait wait wait!" The boy held both hands up and began walking backwards as Pitch marched forward anyways. "You're the Boogeyman? Pitch Black?"

They stopped in sync when Pitch glared down at him.

"Yes. For the last time. And it's Mister Black, to you."

"Oh. My. Stars."

Pitch blinked in surprise as the child whispered one of the shade favorite expressions.

"You're Pitch Black!"

"Yes-"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!-"The boy began to bounce in place.

"Well, start-" Pitch took a step back in growing concern.

"I'M TALKING TO MY HERO!"

"Your WHAT!?" Pitch's jaw dropped as the child let out a whoop of delight and began dancing around the foyer.

At his disbelieving voice, the boy ran back to the awe-struck shade.

"You're ONLY the most amazing spirit EVER!"

Pitch stared in at his 'admirer?' in shock.

"You are so... AWWWESOME!" Suddenly he pointed at the black clad torso in excitement.

"Is it true you single-handedly started the Dark Ages?"

Pitch blinked himself into composure.

"Yes, I did, I'm surprised you know about that-" His moment of pride was interrupted.

"Did you really start the witch burnings!?"

"It was actually a joint effort with-"

"Can you really walk through shadows!?"

"Yes, I-" Pitch began to feel frustrated as the boy continuously interrupted him.

"Is it true you have an army of nightmares!"

"Yes, well sort of-"

"Can I see one!?"

Finally Pitch raised a brow and snapped "If you'd like to die today sure I'll show you as many as you like."

"YEAH I WANT TO- wait what?" The boy rocked back and glancing this way in that in fear.

Pitch snorted at the boy's fear before striding away. Why in the nine realms was HE- King of Nightmares, Lord of Fear, Ruler of Shadows- the boy's hero? With a confused sigh Pitch entered the living room and plopped down on the couch, staring dead ahead.

A low thrumming vibration within the cushion of the couch caused him to roll his eyes. Golden orbs narrowed and pale lips frowned before swinging his head to the left to face a lithe silver cat, perched on the arm of the sofa and purring with excitement.

"Look, kid, why are you following me? You're supposed to fear me, not admire me! I not a hero, I'm just the Boogeyman who creeps around at night and scares children and plagues their dreams with nightmares. Go run off and find someone else to believe in."

The cat slunk off the arm of the couch and morphed into the child. He rested across the couch from Pitch, curled into a ball with his chin atop his knees.

"But I believe in you... mister Black. Sir."

Pitch blinked and his hard features softened.

"But why? Why am I your hero?"

"Well... when I was first a spirit I used to hang around street urchins. We always got into trouble, and I was scared we would get caught cause they were pretty reckless-"

"Wait a minute. You had believers?"

"Ummm... I guess so." The boy cocked his head, not really understanding the spirit's confusion.

"What are you the spirit of?" What could people possibly believe in immediately?

"Deception."

Pitch turned his head from side to side in a contemplating gesture "I could see that. Continue." Pitch waved him on and the boy smiled.

"Well, one day we had just stole some bread and I guess somebody saw us cause I saw you show up and I got real scared and tried to make them leave but they said no. So I hid without them and a few minutes later these guards showed up and they..." Iago suddenly trailed off, staring into the distance.

"So... I saved you. Is that what you're saying?"

The boy jerked back into the real world.

"Yes sir. And again and again and again. I always knew to hide when I saw you. I wanted to thank you but every time I tried you were gone."

Pitch cocked his head to the side and stared at the boy, puzzled and touched by the genuine admiration the child held him with.

"W-w-what?" The lad cowered into himself.

"Nobody's ever tried to... thank me... before..." Pitch startled when the boy leaped to his feet.

"Well why not!?"

The Lord of Fear simply blinked in surprise.

"Who else keeps children from running into the street!? Or walking around at night, that's why you do so you can scare them back to bed, isn't it!?"

Pitch's face fell as the boy rambled on about why Pitch did what he did. Pitch had come to find HE didn't remember why he did anything anymore. This... this mere _CHILD_ remembered why Pitch used to walk around at night. Why he used to whisper possible negative outcomes of peoples actions in their ears. Why didn't PITCH remember why he did these things... now it just felt like he did everything he did because... everybody said that's what he did.

"I don't understand it! Who else would keep children safe?" Finally the youngster plopped down to the couch, out of breath after his rant.

"The Guardians seem to think they do a good job." Pitch absently murmured.

"The Guardians? Who are they?"

Golden eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

"The Guardians of Childhood?"

Iago simply blinked in confusion.

Pitch sat up in disbelief. "You know, the Easter Bunny, Sandman, the Tooth Fairy..."

"Ohhh." Iago scowled. " _THOSE_ phonies. Yeah, the other kids in my Master's cells talked about them a lot. It helped the younger ones to not cry at night I guess."

"Are you saying... the Guardians don't exist?" Pitch shook his head in confusion.

"Not to me." Narrow shoulders simply shrugged "I guess they might…But I never believed in them."

Pitch couldn't help the tightening of his heart when the boy continued with a whimper:

"I mean…what 'Guardian' would let children rot away in musty cells…constantly being beaten and taken advantage of?"

It took all of Pitch's strength to not gather the child into his arms as fear and sadness radiated off him, the boy obviously remembering the horrors that he had escaped from.

* * *

Hope you all had a Merry Christmas! Please excuse me now while I hold Santa Claus captive for giving me coal.

* * *

PS, would you guys drop by and give my editor (frostofsummer) a "Merry Christmas" too? And possibly a thank you. "This chapter was brought to you by the frostofsummer foundation, and by contributions to this reviewing station from viewers like you. THANK YOU!"


	12. Chapter 12

Hello once again audience! I am especially proud of this chapter, even though it literally has almost NO value to the plot line once so ever! However! Do not look away, for I am about to introduce the most BAMF OC's I have ever created (inspired by two of frostofsummer's characters). Except for Iago of course. Now, without further adieu, ROLL FILM! Or text, whatever.

* * *

(Ignorance's office)

Ignorance sighed in exasperation, placing a hand to his forehead "Again, Clyde?"

In the shadows of his master's office, it was impossible to see the tears leaving trails of clean skin down the mercenary's face. But the sob upon seeing Ignorance rise from behind the large desk was hard to miss.

"Sssir, there wa-was nothing there. Nothing at all!" The merc's voice rose in growing hysteria as he watched his master pull a long, glowing scimitar from the fireplace.

"Clyde, Clyde, Clyde..." Ignorance 'tsk'ed while flashing a dangerous smile. "I've already given you a second chance. What else can I do? If I gave you a third one… what kind of message would that be sending to the others?" a sneer crept to the spirit's face, "That I am one that allows incompetence? No Clyde, I expect nothing short of perfection from those beneath me."

"Pah-p-please..." The mercenary fell to his knees as Ignorance towered over him like the executioner he was, "I swear I will not fail you again.

"And I swear that I will make this quick." Ice cold blue eyes gleamed in simmering anger.

Before the mercenary had time to scream, it was over with a 'shink'. The head, with mouth gaping and eyes bulging, slid cleanly to the floor, the body falling the other way in an almost comical manner.

"Not bad, minimum blood splatter this time." Ignorance continued smoothly, studying his handiwork and admiring the cauterized wound "I do believe that I am getting better at this." The spirit chuckled to himself, then his face took on a look of contemplation.

Ignorance replaced the dimming blade with care into the blazing fire before returning to sit at his desk. What was he going to do now? He held his head in hands for a moment, crossing his fingers in almost net like fashion, as if trapping his thoughts within his mind-

Suddenly he bolted to his feet and began pacing furiously...

It was a risky idea, but... hopefully he had trained them well enough...

Ignorance stalked back to his desk and rang the service bell waiting there.

Almost immediately, the door opened and two young faces, a boy and girl, appeared in the crack.

"You summoned, sir?" The children spoke in unison.

"Yes." Ignorance strode to the fire once more and stared into its depths with his hands behind his back. "463 go down to the cellars and send the Hunt brothers to me." The little boy's face disappeared, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

"And me, sir?" the girls voice trembled slightly, not liking the fact that her brother was not by her side

Ignorance casually waved a hand in the general direction of the beheaded mercenary.

The little girl's eyes widened as she spotted the body for the first time.

* * *

(Burgess)

The sun was setting on the town of Burgess, golden rays casting shadows across the streets. People were heading home for the day, hurried by the prospect of warm foods and comfy beds.

This was true as well for fifteen year old Jamie Bennett, walking home with his chatty sister from the park.

They had spent the majority of the day with Jamie's friends, making up stories and adventures about the Guardians, even if nobody but the two siblings actually believed anymore.

"...and then I was finally ready for Pippa to find me and she found me first and scared me and it wasn't faiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir!" The seven year old girl whined.

Jamie rolled his eyes, his sister could be so annoying sometimes. "Well Soph, if you hadn't been ranting to Cupcake about the Tooth Fairy again then perhaps you wouldn't have been spotted..."

Sophie ran ahead of him to the corner of the street and whirled to face him, defiant hands on her hips "Jamie Bennett you can't say that, you do it too!"

Jamie laughed as her wild blonde hair fell in front of her face and she frowned as she tried to blow it back. "I know, I know." He held his hands in a defeated gesture. "But I talk about Jack, not-"

"Jamie..." Suddenly the older sibling realized his sister hadn't been listening.

"What is it, Soph?" Jamie knelt down to her level, trying to find what had spooked her.

"W-what are those..." She whispered in fear, pointing down the street, towards the woods.

Following her finger, Jamie gasped at what he saw.

Three wolves were hunched at the woods edge, sniffing along the ground. The two children were too far away to make out anything in the gathering dark except three smudges of different sizes.

At first it seemed like the two children might go unnoticed, until the smallest wolf glanced in their direction. Jamie couldn't make out eyes from this distance, but he could feel its gaze and knew they had been spotted. And so could Sophie, if her vice like grip on his arm was anything to go by.

Suddenly the biggest one reared up on its hind legs, turning to stare at them as well.

The middle sized one simply started to make impatient circles.

In one swift movement, all three vanished into the tree line.

"What were those, Jamie?" Sophie's voice was barely a whisper, the girl knowing that what they had just witnessed were anything but normal wolves.

"Those were trouble, I'd think." Jamie gasped as he found his voice again.

Sophie mutedly nodded.

"Come on, Soph, I still have a globe. I'll send a letter to North."

The two siblings scampered home, now on a mission to inform the Guardian of Wonder that something was off in the town of Burgess.

* * *

(Woods outside Burgess)

Human eyesight really shouldn't be counted on, since Jamie had not, in fact, seen three wolves. Only the smallest had been of the canine nature. Now the forest echoed with the crunch of leaves as the three beasts made their way purposely through the thick underbrush.

The smallest of the three, a grey furred wolf loped through the forest at a break neck pace, the fast canine tailed closely by a huge brown bear and a lean mountain lion.

The unlikely trio bounded along the forest floor, following a twisting, barren footpath. The bear and lion huffed to keep up with the marathon of a pace the wolf was setting, both more adapt to ambush hunts then this…. tracking behavior.

Old scars rippled across the muscles of all three, reminders of their master's fury upon the one time they had failed to bring back that which he had sent them out for. Each creature knew what would happen should they fail this mission. No one got a third chance…in response to that thought, all three sets of ears laid flat, eyes ablaze with determination.

They were not going to fail, they were not going to falter, no they were going to succeed…This. Was a Hunt. And that was what they were the best at…that was what the master had beaten into them time after time.

Finally, the wolf slowed to a stop as they approached a clearing, and the end of the scent trail it had been tracking.

There was their destination- a shack, just as promised.

Birds above watched in amusement at the mild panting of the wolf that had stopped beneath their trees, the canine comically contrasting the wheezing of the other two predators.

The wolf ushered the others into the brush and surveyed the area.

Without warning, the gleam of life disappeared from its eyes, and the fur turned limp against the crouching back of an eighteen-year-old boy, who stood behind a tree to his astounding full height of six feet.

A slender, callused hand yanked the fanged wolf hood off his black, oily hair riddled with random braids, revealing his gaunt face with gleaming yellow eyes and wide nose. His nostrils flared, testing the air, and his thick brows furrowed in agitation, drawing the filthy, tanned skin into grooves on his forehead.

His wolf pelt vest billowed about his bare chest in a spring gale that threw leaves around his bare feet and snagged on the tattered ends of his mud brown capries.

Pale lips twisted into a frustrated snarl, revealing dull incisors and lifting his stubble of facial hair, as the growls and hisses behind him turned to human shouts and insults.

"Scanlon* big oaf! Step on foot while run!"

The largest of the boys snarled, revealing pearl white teeth "Would no step on if Orgeto** look where go!"

"Enough!" the boy who was once wolf snarled at the two other boys.

"Just cause Spirit of Chase, think in charge Olwydd?***" Scanlon bunched his muscled shoulders ready to challenge the smaller spirit

"No in charge! Master in charge!" The Spirit of the Chase snapped, whirling viciously towards his siblings. "But see what did? Boy saw, not saw if no fight!"

"Or if for Olwydd not wait too long!" The boy who had once been the bear snarled, not angry at his siblings so much as he was angry at the evasive prey. Being the Spirit of the Catch, the loss of their target was much more detrimental to him than his siblings. He shook his head, ready to challenge the smaller boy. He stepped forward, towering over his unimpressed brother by a full six inches. His dark brown eyes flashed in frustration under his bear skin hood.

Olwydd rolled his eyes. He would wait for his sibling's temper to subside before speaking.

The boy's broad shoulders were still heaving from the run, gleaming with sweat, and his bare feet and hands ached from where they had thudded across the rugged, merciless terrain. However, not one to let weakness show, his wide palms rested on the waistband of his dark green shorts in a defiant gesture. The imposing effect was lost, however, when a strand of his dark hair fell into his face.

Scanlon snarled, raising his wild, unkempt beard, as his third brother chuckled merrily:

"Or if not have such bad temper!" The boy who had transformed from the lion grinned. Though he was the Spirit of the Kill, he was not the biggest of his brothers, but it did not matter- he was by far the most threatening.

The lion skin hood sat crookedly atop his head, casting everything but his murderous green eyes and his fanged smile that set his unevenly trimmed facial hair askew in shadows. The warm wind allowed a few sneaky, wild strands of reddish-brown hair to escape the toothy jaws.

Tan arms were crossed over his chest, inch long claws drumming the opposite arm absently, and a clawed foot tapped the ground in impatience under his tan, blood-stained pants. He sneered at the smaller brother, "Maybe brother not good hound, huh?"

"Monster scent faint! Hard find!" The wolf brother growled to the giants before him.

"But shadow man scent strong, Olwydd." the bear sibling inhaled, wanting to tackle the younger for not keeping up with the scents, since he WAS the tracker, after all.

"Old scent!" Olwydd scoffed.

"Not notice?" The Kill Spirit cocked his head in a taunting gesture, clearly enjoying the argument.

Scanlon rumbled with laughter, "Olwydd lose edge, agree Orgeto?"

"Did notice! Badger dirt!" Olwydd growled, continuing their insulting match that got them spotted in the first place.

"Carrion breath!" Orgeto cackled with glee at his brothers' temper.

"Mange pelt!" The huge spirit roared.

"Stop!" The wolf brother suddenly hissed as shoved his way between the two.

"Move."

"Yes move, no stop, again again"

"No! Olwydd no move!" He hissed more sternly. But his scolding look was lost as it took on an air of excitement. "Might scare prey away. Time now."

The bear and mountain lion silenced and shared a grin of delight.

"Time catch."

"Scanlon do what Scanlon do best!" And with a ferocious smirk, the huge boy ambled across the clearing, climbed a nearby tree, and slipped his way down the chimney with the ease only years of practice could acquire.

"It Orgeto turn now."

"Yes."

The pair loped the short distance to the front door, Olwydd's longer strides carrying him to the door first. But as the Spirit of the Kill arrived, it was flung open from the inside by a frantic Scanlon.

"No prey!" The huge man produced an impossibly high pitched whine.

Fear plunged into the bellies of the three at the thought of returning to their master empty-handed.

"No true!" Olwydd yelped in disbelief and slunk his way past the hulk of his brother. In desperation, the wolf-brother knelt to the floor, abstractly lifting grains of dirt to his face for inspection. He snarled when nothing filled his nostrils, and threw them to the side.

He galloped onward, on fingers and toes in a strange sideways shuffle, around the corner and into the dark, dank living room.

Scanlon and Orgeto shared a worried glance at their brother's whine of distress before following him in. They found him with his face to the floor, surrounded by bits and pieces of a caving ceiling, in what they called his "tracking stance".

"Oh, no good, very bad!" Olwydd whined frantically, moving from one spot to another on his hands and knees.

"Smell old." Orgeto commented unhelpfully with a remorseful tone.

"Yes, old scent, week say..." His brother cast him an ungrateful glance.

"Week?" Scanlon's eyes widened to disks. "Master no please..."

The trio froze, each staring into the eyes of the others, fear obvious in their gaze.

"Wait, looksies!" Orgeto yelped in relief. He dashed across the messy room to a discarded blanket in the floor.

"Let Olwydd looksies!" The wolf triplet panted, the bear grunting in rare, desperate agreement.

Orgeto passed on the article with the caution of handling a fragile artifact. His brother recieved it in a similar manner before inhaling deeply.

"Monster scent!" Olwydd hopped in place with excitement.

The others let out a breath they weren't aware of holding.

Olwydd inhaled again. "Monster smell sick... good or bad, monster smell sick?"

"Sick alive too." Scanlon rumbled.

"Least no smell like death." Orgeto chuckled, earning a stern glare from his siblings.

"Also smell... shadow man." The trio growled in unison, then laughed lightly.

"And... other scent too..." Olwydd wrinkled his nose and tried again. Coming up with nothing, he shook his head in exasperation. His brothers huffed with impatience. "Smell like... like... Sleibhin+?" The yellow eyes blinked in surprise and he cocked his head.

"Mountain Man?" Scanlon scoffed.

"Olwydd sure?" Orgeto inquired, his clawed fingers atop his pants.

"Yes, sure, smell!" He thrust the quilt towards them.

"Sleibhin!"

"Olwydd told so." Scanlon scoffed in what clearly was read as "whatever".

"This save!" Olwydd grinned, a much less frightening one than the grin The Spirit of the Kill now sported.

"Sleibhin lied! Help monster and shadow man escaped!"

"No hits! Master love us we get home."

"Mountain Man not. Master kill Sleibhin."

The three brothers laughed until a moment of silence came upon them.

"Think Master let eat Sleibhin's birds?" Orgeto pondered with a contemplative claw atop his chin.

Then they began to laugh again, their maniacal shrieks and howls not lost upon a certain boy in the comforts of his room, pen in trembling, now fear frozen, hand.

* * *

"So you DIDN'T find my creature?" Ignorance asked coolly, swirling the steaming tea in his hands from his desk. Though the man's voice was smooth as silk, for the Spirits of the Hunt before him it may have well been a knife to their throats.

With an agitated sigh, Ignorance rose, cup in hand to the fireplace, turning the simmering sword with diligant care.

"Boys, I like you. You're obedient, respectful, and I honestly enjoy watching you work. It's... inspiring." Ignorance mulled as he turned from the fire, striding towards his slaves.

The three stood a little straighter, surprised and overjoyed that their master was so complimentary.

"However..."

They cringed in unison. Never mind THAT thought.

"You have returned, taking FAR too much time I might add, empty handed, whining like pathetic DOGS, with NO clear answer ONCE SO EVER. So let me ask again. WHERE. IS IT?"

Scanlon shoved his smallest brother forward a step, and the wolf sibling gave him a meaningful glare while Orgeto chuckled.

"N-not know, Master." Olywdd said to his feet, for suddenly toes were the most interesting things the trio had ever seen.

"My eyes are up here, Olywdd!" Ignorance snapped, shoving the spirit's head to look him in the ice cold gaze. "Now, you don't know, you say?" He narrowed his eyes, imposing even though he was few inches shorter than the young tracker.

"W-we not know, M-master. But Sleibhin does!" Olywdd hurriedly added upon seeing Ignorance's eye twitch in fury. The glaring face suddenly blinked and reared back a hair.

"Who?" Ignorance inquired, raising a thin brow.

"Sleibhin. Mountain Man." Olwydd repeated quietly, trembling.

"Really?" Ignorance sipped from his glass, the spirit swirled the liquid around his tongue…ah Ginkgo Tea++. Exactly what he needed. That 464 was smart. Ignorance made a mental note to increase her food rations later as reward.

"Yes master. Orgeto find blanket." His brother smiled shyly at Olwydd's praise. "Smell Sleibhim and shadow man. And monster... monster smell sick."

Ignorance blinked and stood a little taller, causing the still three-inch higher man to squirm in apprehension.

"Sick?"

Olywdd bit his lip and muttered: "Yes master."

"Hmm..." Ignorance tapped a finger to his chin in a contemplative gesture, but he had already decided their reward. He slowly marched back to his desk and took a seat, enjoying the building suspense in the brothers.

"Thank you boys."

The triplets sighed in relief.

"You three have done marvelous. In fact-" Here he raised the spoon from the glass and gestured to surprised spirits. "-you've done so well, I see no reason you can't go hunting."

The brothers instantly straightened, glancing from one to another in amazement, eyes wild and breath ragged.

Ignorance waited till he thought they would explode with excitement before casually dismissing them with a flick of his hand.

The three instantly barreled to the door, falling atop one another in the hallway with Scanlon on top. The brute scampered off, quickly followed by Orgeto, then Olwydd after he shook himself free of dizziness.

After sitting a moment, listening to their howls of delight, Ignorance rang his bell and finished his tea. The two children appeared once more in his doorway, eyes wide in apprehension. But, much to their surprise, Ignorance was in a fantastic mood.

"Nice work rounding up the Hunt brothers, 463." With a confused smile, the boy disappeared. The girl almost followed suit when Ignorance called out to her: "And 464?"

"Yes sir?" The child stopped.

Ignorance raised his empty tea cup to her "Good call. You're dismissed."

The little girl smiled broadly and hurried away.

With a sigh, Ignorance checked his clock with little care. Two-thirty in the morn.

"I can call it a night." He shrugged. "After all, if the kid is sick, he can't get better with that collar on him- it freezes his healing! He won't be much of a bother right now. Tomorrow I can 'question'- what did they call him? Sleibhim?- again."

And so, he donned his jacket, filed up his briefcase, and, using a pitcher of water from the mantle, put out the fire, casting the office into darkness.

* * *

Footnotes:

*Scanlon- Pronounced Scan•lun-Irish/Gaelic origin-Little Trapper (the irony is strong with this one)

**Orgeto- Pronounced Or•heh•tah- Spanish origin- Killer

***Olwydd- Pronounced Ol•wid- Welsh origin- Tracker

+Sleibhin- Pornounced Sleigh•beh•in-Irish/Gaelic origin- Literally translates to Man of the Mountain, how could I resist?

++Ginkgo tea is often used to calm headaches and soothe nerves, so Ignorance should drink that more often, am I right?

* * *

It always annoys me when somebody puts so many footnotes in their work and expect me to either A.) Interrupt my reading with finding them all at the bottom and remembering how many damn *** there are, or B.) Remember ALL of them and fill in the blanks. So there I was one day, eating my Cherrios, when suddenly this idea hit me and I choked. So I made it better.

What do you think? And for all you ungrateful readers out there, I SPENT TWO WHOLE DAYS FINDING THESE PERFECT NAMES!

Anywhozals, Happy New Years everybody! My resolution- Cuss less. Good luck.


	13. Chapter 13

I. Am. So. Sorry! I lost my fan fiction journal and found it recently so we are back in business baby and I promise this won't happen again! Enjoy!

* * *

(With Pitch)

"Kid!"

The sanctuary resounded with the baritone voice of the Nightmare King, bits of rock and dust falling with it's intensity.

"Answer me!" Pitch rounded yet another corner in a black blur, confusion and panic REALLY working its way into his chest.

A swirling mist drifted towards him, the souls of the Shifters curious as to what had the shade riled up.

"Lucius!" Pitch hastily called for his friend as stopped to take a breath, then he straightened when he felt the soul entwine with his own. "Lucius, have you seen Iago!? I haven't seen him since this morning, he was asleep, I thought he was still..."

Pitch paused when a sense of calm settled over him as the soul attempted to reassure him. The shade frowned when he deciphered the old shifters words, "What do you mean, took a fly?" With an angry huff, the shade stalked back to the foyer, the shadow of the statue crossing his toes.

A tiny sliver of mist broke from the whole when Lucius followed the spirit as the other souls drifted away, now losing interest in the situation.

"Iago!" Pitch's voice cut again into the silence, the shade was beyond concerned now…

A slight twinge in his soul caused his eyes to widened.

"What?" Pitch suddenly stopped, turning on heel and glaring at the hovering soul. "Worried…I'm not worried I'm..." Pitch struggled to find the right word as the soul chuckled. "... Concerned…. For myself." Pitch crossed his arms as if daring the soul to argue. "I need to spread nightmares as soon as I can, and that boy is my only chance of surviving." Satisfied with his rebuttal, the spirit nodded and continued.

Pitch rounded the corner into the living room, just in time to see a little brown bat flap in from the fireplace and land on the couch in a morphing heap.

"There you are!" Pitch exclaimed, startling the boy who yelped and fell to the floor. "Where did you go? Lucius said you went for a fly?"

"Uh w-well... I- was just- I didn't-" Iago stuttered, the boy's eyes darting back and forth wildly.

Pitch frowned when a wave of mastigophobia* reached him.

Unfortunately, the boy misunderstood that frown, and the strength of his fear only escalated. "Yeh-y-yes..."

Pitch sighed as the boy squeaked out the tiny word, and pondered his next move carefully. Pitch knew that what his reaction to this situation could either make or break his chances of ever... getting out of here. As physically relieving as this boy's fear was... The shade still found himself amazed that he wasn't scared of HIM, just his responses. To EVERYTHING.

In fact Pitch had asked just yesterday if there was any water available and the poor lad had rambled on how the spring the fed the house was dry and that he couldn't find any at all and that it wasn't his fault. Pitch had almost toppled over from the sheer amount of fear that had practically radiated in tsunami waves.

Pitch, in a slight state of emotional panic and confusion that he would never admit to, had simply left the child to deal with himself, internally wincing at Iago's fear of rejection and the thought he was going to beaten for the simple fact of there being no water available.

And now again, the child was before him scared that he was going to be punished.

Not a good start to a potential ...ally...

Pitch continued to feel the need to refer to this child as SOMETHING, SOME word that would sum up the tiny spirit in the shade's mentality perfectly. But it was as if someone had put a marble glass window between him and his answer.

"I-I-I'm really sssorry... Mr. Black. Sir..."

Golden eyes blinked back into focus.

"I'm not angry with you, Iago." Pitch found the child's name fascinating. It was a flavorful name, the kind that bounces around your mouth in an almost playful manner, and the mouth had to form itself in just the right embouchure to say it.

"You're nnnot?" Watery, mercury orbs glanced from the tattered brown sleeve of his riding cloak to the ash gray face of his idol. In some ways, the boy had been disappointed when he had met the shade - no fangs or claws, so formal and somewhat elegant, and British? Iago had nothing against the British, but... the British Boogeyman?

If anything, the smooth accent made Pitch seem more appealing rather than dangerous.

Both minds, young and old, had the same, overall thought progression: How do I approach him?

Pitch made his decision first.

"Where did you go?" He inquired, hoping to draw the boy's more charismatic side out with feigned interest.

Suddenly the boy giggled.

Pitch cocked his head questioningly and raised an invisible eyebrow.

However, the boy simply smothered his laughter in a small, cheeky grin that only years' worth of practice could have pulled off.

"You're not ACTUALLY wondering where I went."

In a well concealed bout of surprise, the shade replied only with the action of folding his hands behind him.

"You just what to know what's outside the sanctuary."

Such accurate readings of his interest stunned the shade, to the extent that Pitch lost his cover and jerked back.

"How did you-"

"You were trying to deceive the Spirit of Deception. That was funny."

Pitch's golden eyes narrowed, evaluating his slip-up. That was how he approached unknown environments after all, by inquiring to the liking of the audience. That approach, however, was going to prove difficult here...

Suddenly he was aware of it again, the increasing fears of the child before him. He mentally kicked himself, for Iago was probably viewing his physical reactions as signs of anger, but he wasn't angry at all.

In fact…

Pitch clicked his tongue in resolution.

Silver eyes widened and the boy sat to attention.

The Nightmare King made note of that- the boy's reaction was obviously an automatic response to something...probably some part of his past... something Pitch would possibly need to know... but he would dwell on that later. Right now he needed to address this….

"Since you know me so well already..." the shade strode to sit beside the boy, who scooted away a few inches, much to Pitch's displeasure. "... what IS outside these walls?"

"Wellll..." The boy hunched further into himself, glancing anywhere in the room BUT at the person he was speaking to. "Mostly mountains and evergreens... but there's a river..." The boy uncurled a little bit in excitement as he went on.

"It's really big and wide and kinda fast. And it's really cold too, especially since it's spring cause all the ice is melting , and that makes it even wider and even faster and it makes all the locals downstream get real panicky -"

"Did you say locals?" Pitch suddenly cried.

The boy flinched, suddenly radiating with fear.

"Uh uhh well i..."

"Where? How far?"

"Fffive miles downstream!" Iago squeaked, he flinched when the spirit waved a hand, the boy certain that at any moment it would descend.

"Canyoutakemethere?" Pitch was unaware of the boy's thought as his excitement reached its peak.

Iago's mercury eyes blinked and his fear disappeared "What?"

Pitch sighed and rolled his eyes. "Can. You. Take. Me. There?" His response was stunned silence, accompanied by a stare that bore into the shade as if he had just declared himself half unicorn. "Well?"

The boy shook his head and blinked again.

"I'm sorry... I'm just... nobody's ever..."

Pitch's eyes widened and he frowned as the boy's reasoning dawned on him. "Nobody's ever 'asked' you for anything, have they?"

"Nnn... not in a really long time..." Pale lips trembled and his eyes became watery, but just when Pitch thought he was going to break, the boy smiled slightly. "But I can take you there! I gladly will. By air? Or, would you prefer ground?"

Pitch decided to approach this abrupt change in thought with mild amusement, even though it was slightly worrying.

"Hmph. I'm perfectly capable in the air. My nightmares DO fly, you know."

At this the boy's smile widened even further. "Can I see a nightmare!?" He questioned in awe as his small hand gently clasped the black sleeve, guiding them out of the living room and to the door.

Pitch's mouth opened but it was a moment before he came up with an adequate response. "Maybe some other time." He replied slowly, since there was no way in the Nine Realms that he would let this child know that he no longer controlled the very beings that he was supposed to be King over.

The pair stopped before the huge French doors, it's stained glass filthy from years of 'living' abandonment, but surprisingly still one hundred percent intact.

"Oh, okay!" The young boy oblivious to Pitch's inner conflict.

He pulled at the doors as hard as he could muster, the aging brass hinges groaning in displeasure. Tendrils of ivy snapped outside, followed by another and another until you almost couldn't hear the hinges squeak. A breeze blew in from the outside world, carrying with it leaves and dirt while tossing the spirits' hair about none too gently.

Iago stumbled backwards as the doors swung too far for his little arms to reach, continuing their parallel paths and dousing the two in the light of an overcast day.

Suddenly Iago realized his mistake as Pitch hissed and shaded his eyes with an arm. He was surprised when Pitch didn't melt into a tar black puddle, or burst into flames, or start smoking, or at the very least retreat to the shade of the sanctuary.

Pitch caught the confused, slightly worried glance that quickly looked away. "I'm not a vampire."

The child giggled, glancing back for a fraction of a second before observing the landscape below.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not harmed at all by the sun, there just is not much work for me to do at day anymore-" Pitch stopped abruptly as he too took in the scene below him.

The sanctuary stood on the higher slope of a mountain valley, their gray and green coated sides surrounding them until the clarity of the trees ended quite suddenly about two or three miles out, and beyond them smudges of dry tans, browns, and occasional greens ruled until they morphed with the blue horizon. This suggested their valley's only exposure was a rather tall bluff.

A beautiful palette of colors spread out below them. Evergreens took up most of the mountainside, standing tall and proud, ancient and as wide as a bus. Every once and while Pitch could spot the dead branches of deciduous trees reaching to the sky.

And carving through the valley, and then further to the horizon, was the mighty river just as Iago had described.

Even from this distance, the river's springtime roar echoed between the trees, faintly heard among the birds chirping here and there.

Pitch turned his attention skyward, where the sun was just setting on the horizon, its golden hue turning the gray clouds a deep orange. The shade inhaled sharply, enjoying the wondrous fragrances of nature that surrounded him, as opposed to the dank dusty scents that had become a constant as of late.

"This place really IS a sanctuary." Pitch mulled aloud. "The only way to get in or out of here is to fly!"

"Or to teleport." Iago quietly added.

"Yeah, what was that thing I fiddled with? The pyramid thing?"

"You got here by that?" Iago spun in Pitch's direction, barely meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second before glancing away again. "I'd assumed you flew on a nightmare."

Pitch decided not to point out he had no idea where they were right now, nor how to get here without that pyramid. Nor was he about to reveal that as of right now he had no transportation other than the young shape shifter.

"How else would I have known where to go?"

The child accepted this rebuttal with a shrug.

Pitch nodded, glad that the boy had not pressed the issue. He turned again and continued his observation of the landscape, golden eyes now admiring the gathering darkness with anticipation.

He was surprised by a sudden crunch of gravel to his left, the sound of some heavy object settling. With a raised brow, Pitch turned to inquire the boy-

"What in the-"!"

Low and behold, there was no child to be seen, but rather a huge, opal wyvern.**.

It stood on two wide legs, ending with three toed feet, a thick, spiny tail about ten feet long lazily waving through the air. The inside toes were larger, the claw arced, resulting in a velociraptor like fashion.

The creature's torso was broad, nearly the size of a S.U.V., the thing's muscled shoulders reaching about twenty feet in height. With a snort, the creature stretched out leather appendages to a forty-something foot wingspan that drifted over the surprised shade, casting him in a relieving shadow.

In the middle of each wing, two thick fingers curled, and as the wings folded to his side, they planted firmly on the ground, lowering the short neck and large head to be eye level with the Lord of Fear.

The nose had some sort of jaw-to-crest bone in the front, as tall as the head was wide, which was about five feet across. The space between the neck and the nose was spent flowing from width to height.

Silver eyes the size of footballs stared at him from the scaled muzzle, blinking as if waiting for the man's approval.

"This is...impressive." Pitch chuckled when the creature let out a rumble, the boy obviously happy that he was happy.

* * *

Pitch closed his eyes and let the wind blow his hair about, the cold air numbing his face. It had been so long since he had felt this…the shade let out a sigh.

 ** _'Is something wrong?'_**

Just as in the world of the souls, the thoughts of the shifter were felt more than heard in the shade's mind.

"I was thinking it's nice to have someone do the flying for you."

The wyvern rumbled, its growl vibrating the thick chest. _**'I like flying under my own power.'**_

"Well, that's understandable. You can control your flying. You can't control much else in the world."

There was no reply but the 'fwoom' of air being disturbed under the great wings.

Pitch marveled at the strength under each, slow wing beat, the shoulder muscles behind him flexing to maintain their soar.

 _ **'There it is. The village of Vimur.'**_ ***

Pitch craned his neck to look past the reptile's head, but could see nothing except for tree tops…"Is that it? That little speck down there?" The Lord of Fear began to feel a twinge of disappointment when he caught sight a tiny dot of houses.

Meanwhile, the left wing muscle compressed, drawing the twenty foot wing closer. In response, they began a sharp, steep bank to the left, approaching the ground in a spiraling formation.

"Are there any children down there?" Pitch frowned, viewing the approaching rows of shacks with contempt.

 _ **'Yes. Though only a handful.'**_

"It'll do... I guess..." The shade huffed in annoyance. Pitch was surprised when the spines lining the side of the head twitched, the head jerking ever so slightly, indicating some sort of instinctual reaction.

Pitch bit his tongue as a brief wave of fear reached his senses before it slowly disappeared.

Before he could reflect on it, they were landing.

Iago coasted in to a grassy field outside the town. He angled back, his massive wings back-pedaling, and the huge animal shuddered in adjusting weight as they touched down to the earth. The grass flattened under the current, brownish green blades laying themselves at the scaly feet. The wings gave one more strong flap before the wyvern brought them close, leaning on his fingered wings.

With a rumble, Iago lowered his mighty head to the ground before his passenger slid off.

 _ **'Thank you for flying Dragon Airlines, hope you enjoyed your flight.'**_ The shape-shifter snorted, giving a shudder of laughter.

Pitch narrowed his eyes and frowned disapprovingly until the wyvern noticed.

A low whimper escaped the massive creature as he looked away, silver eyes downcast, every spine lay flat against his head. The wyverns mighty tail drew close and the shoulders hunched as the dragon tried to curl in on himself.

A mixed wave of mastigophobia and agathoraphobia+ reached the Lord of Fear, and it bothered him deeply that he felt stronger as a result.

With a sigh, the shade made a decision he probably would regret making, for the sake of the boy who literally radiated with fear.

"Would you like to watch me work?"

The wyvern flat out SQUEALED, a burst of purple fire escaping the gasping jaw and charring a swath of grass to a brittle black, while the tail spines shot in every direction, thudding against trees and dirt.

The crest spines laid flat against the scaly skull, mercury eyes widening in a guilty stare. The opal scales rippled, the wings folding and shrinking, while the tail began to diminish. The muzzle shrunk against the face and the head spines turned limp against the narrowing neck.

And for a brief second, The Lord of Fear was stunned by a creature of myth.

And then it was gone, in its place the young boy Pitch had met what felt like so long ago. The boy asked something, but the shade didn't catch it- he was in a stupor.

The nymph... the stories... it was true. A creature that made the bravest blood run cold. A creature that inflicted fear.

"Would you like to watch me work?" Pitch asked slowly, surreptitiously testing his power. His sand combined with that... thing... oh, the FEAR they would spread in a team like that!

"Y…yes sir!" the boy's voice cracked with his excitement.

Pitch smirked, then concentrated on calling his sand.

The nightmare sand stung his palm, hissing in tiny streams. The tendrils dangled limp for a minute, then suddenly lashed out against the gray hand of its supposed master.

Biting back pained remarks, Pitch dusted the rebellious grains off his now faintly scratched palm in frustration. Nothing was going right for him today! Sighing, Pitch turned to see the boy gawking at him in awe and joy, the child obviously thinking he had done the act on purpose.

"Close your mouth, boy, or something will make a nest out of it." He snapped.

The shocked shape-shifter immediately snapped his jaw shut with a painful sound crack. Iago turned his eyes to flattened grass and picked at the blades, curling in on himself.

Pitch could see the silver eyes watering, and the boy's breathing began accelerating. The boy's tiny hand was shaking, and the pure fear was like a roaring fire to the shade. So much fear, it made him feel so... alive.

And, strangely enough, it saddened him as well.

"Come on, Iago." Pitch sighed. He didn't have time for these…foreign emotions.

Mercury eyes glanced at the shade's feet, too scared to look him in the eyes.

"Come with me." Pitch made sure his tone left no room for argument since he needed to get to work, or else lose the opportunity to gather fear from the village

Slowly at first, the young child crept to Pitch's side, crouching at his feet and still observing the dirt, still with so much fear.

And for once in his life Pitch hated the sensation.

"Dear Moon above…what is wrong with me?" The shade couldn't deny that he- The Lord of Fear, King of Nightmares, Ruler of Shadows, Pitch Black the Boogeyman- felt awful for feasting on the very fear that was keeping him alive.

"Come with me, Iago." This time Pitch let his voice soften, smiling slightly when the boy's fear abated a tad. "We have work to do."

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Footnotes:

*mastigophobia- fear of being whipped or any form of punishment

**wyvern- a type of sub-dragon that walks on two legs and occasionally two wings, usually fingered

***Vimur- norse for river

+agathoraphobia- fear of abandonment

* * *

I lost an argument on whether what Iago turned into was a drake or a wyvern... fun fact, Drakes are four legged, usually elemental dragons with no wings, and wyverns are two legged dragons with two wings. The more you know...


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry for the late update, guys. Life is a messy mess on this end, so I've been sorting it out. Yay, ADHD, this takes a while. Anywhozals, I present to you a heavily revised chapter (it seriously was written three times before I even sent it to frostofsummer, who tolerates my indecisiveness- which I appreciate very much.) Enjoy this positive product of my messy messed up mess.

* * *

(North Pole)

 _Thunk_!

A slippery block of ice the size of a small dog landed on a hearty table.

 _Whirrrr_!

The sound of blades echoed in the air as a chainsaw sliced the glistening block cleanly in half.

 _Tck_! _Tck_! _Tck_!

A small chisel, orientated by unbelievably large hands for such a delicate task, broke tiny piece after even smaller piece away.

A record player in the corner of the room played a suspenseful symphony, to which the round, white-bearded artist hummed joyful along.

In no time at all, North held up his finished work, a small wind up ice bird. Gently, the beefy hands turned the small crank.

 _Crick-ick_! _Crick-ick_! _Crick-ick_!

The bird's wings opened and began to flap, the fragile sculpture flying in lazy circles over the Spirit of Wonder.

"Perfect..." The Cossack murmured, shoving a sugar cookie in his mouth. His bright blue eyes followed the tiny toy as it slowly flew lower and lower to the ground until it smoothly landed with a tiny-

 _Creak creak creak creak_!

North's head turned to the door where the rapid approaching footsteps of a Yeti could be heard.

"Oh!" The Russian lunged for his creation, cradling it protectively with both hands and scooping out of range, right as Phil threw open the door.

"Phil...how many times have I told you to knock!" North pinched the bridge of his nose at the near disaster that had almost befallen his creation.

"Rawgrahrha raaaaaahhgh!*" The yeti held one hand over his mouth, the other clutching a envelope.

"Phil, what do you have there?" North stood, gesturing to the package.

Phil passed it over to the elated spirit, the creature watching the man's bright eyes scan the envelope quickly.

"Jamie! Delightful!" North sauntered to his work station, setting the bird down with diligent care, before slicing the sticky seal open with his favorite letter opener.

"Phil, close door." He waved the yeti out with a light flick of his wrist and waited until the door shut with a clunk before pulling the letter from its holder.

It was a sacred thing for believers to write to spirits, and North wanted to preserve that by making sure only his eyes saw the boy's message.

"Let's see what the boy is up to now..." Large fingers closed over a sheet of folded notebook paper, frantic hand writing scrawled across its pale blue lines.

The Russian's cheery smile quickly dried up into a determined frown, "Phil, I need you!"

He glanced at the door which opened instantly, indicating the yeti had not gone far.

"Rara ragra ragrah?**" Phil babbled in suspense and worry, the yeti sensing the emotions emanating from the Guardian.

"Phil, I need you to go to Globe and signal for the others..."

Phil gulped slightly when the Cossack reached and grabbed his scimitars.

"Something is amiss in Burgess."

* * *

(Burgess)

North, Jack, and Bunny stood in an alleyway, awaiting Jamie's arrival.

It was mid-afternoon in Burgess, and the impending spring weather- hurried along by an anxious Easter Bunny during his trek with Mountain last week- was beginning to take its toll on a certain frost sprite.

"How much longerrrrr!?" Jack whined, the winter spirit leaning against a wall (the same wall that their target had stood barely a week ago), his thin body slumped against the brick. He wiped a sticky palm against his damp forehead, "I swear I'm melting!"

North chuckled at the boy's exaggeration of his condition, "It will not be much longer, Jack. Have patience. Jamie said school bell ring any min-"

Brrrrring!

The three Guardians startled at the harsh sound of the school bell, smirking as they watched the doors burst open, quickly followed by the rush of its released "prisoners".

"See? What I tell you?" The Russian smirked, earning him an eye roll from the teenager.

"Look! There's Jamie." Bunny pointed urgently down the sidewalk to the approaching crowds of children.

The other Guardians strained to see the boy amongst the ocean of children, and smiled when they caught sight of their believer.

Jamie was bouncing down the steps of the school surrounded by Cupcake, Pippa, Monty, Caleb and Claude.

"Man, he's grown..." Jack whispered with a heavy sigh. Jamie had been his first believer when Pitch had attacked, and that had been a year ago. Now, Jamie was taller, his voice a little deeper, and he had developed a pair of broad, masculine shoulders from nowhere.

Bunny did not detect the disappointed tone in Jack's voice, instead eavesdropping on the conversation down the street.

"Guys, I'm serious! I saw them! Three wolves, right down Baxter street near the woods, I saw them I swear!" Jamie's voice held a pleading tone to it as he tried to convince his friends of what he has seen.

"So what, Jamie? It's a forest, why shouldn't there be wolves?" Pippa replied in a bored tone, staring down at her phone and texting furiously.

"Yeah, just be glad they didn't try to eat you!" Caleb laughed.

"Yeah Jamie, better watch out!" Claude bounded before the group, threw his arms wide and his head back, and produced a half-hearted attempt at a wolf howl.

"Stop!" Jamie rushed forward, clamping a hand over his friend's mouth. "You'll attract their..." Jamie trailed off as he saw his observers.

"It's the Guardians…" He whispered.

At his comment, his friends groaned.

"Oh, not this again!" "Seriously?" "Grow up, Jamie!"

Jamie, however, didn't bother listening to them, instead dashing down the sidewalk, rounding the corner to his Guardians.

"North, you got my letter!"

The Cossack nodded, "I did. Now, you absolutely certain it was wolf you saw?"

"I saw them North!" Jamie grumbled, hurt etched over his face.

He stared at them, going from one to the next, until his chin fell to his chest, glaring at his untied shoes.

"I really saw them..." Jamie sighed. "I know I did."

"We believe ya, mate." Bunny knelt next to the distraught believer, placing a comforting paw on the boy's shoulder.

"Why don't you show us where?" North tried gently.

Jamie nodded, relieved that they weren't treating him like his friends had.

Bunny felt a tug in his chest as his hope rose again.

"Yeah. Right this way."

His friends caught up with them the moment they left the alleyway.

"Oh come on, Jamie." Cupcake called, trying to draw him back.

"Leave him be, Cupcake. He's running from his scary imaginary wolves." Pippa huffed, irritated with Jamie for all his stupid stories and peculiar obsessions.

"Hey! Don't talk to him like that!" Jack yelled, shaking a fist at the group, however none of the children took notice of him, nor any of the Guardians for that matter. They didn't believe anymore- The Guardians could do nothing.

"But..." Monty tried, but faltered as Pippa huffed. With a sigh, he waved to Jamie. "See ya later. Let me know the next time you see those wolves. We can check them out with my telescope."

And with that, they were gone.

There was a moment of silence as Jamie watched his friends leave.

Jack, unable to just sit and watch anymore, put a comforting hand on Jamie's back, "Hey, kid, its…"

"I'm fine." The boy shrugged out from under the cold hand.

Jack stared, hurt, as Jamie rolled his shoulder and strode off, leaving the frost sprite with an impending sense of... rejection... He took a shaky breath, suddenly terribly afraid of losing his beloved friend and believer.

* * *

(Unknown)

Meanwhile, oceans away, Pitch jerked back mid stride, almost stepping on the small boy that trailed him in growing anticipation through the tiny village.

"What's wrong?" Iago whispered, afraid that he had somehow upset his idol again.

Pitch didn't answer the boy's question, his hand instead rubbing his chest which had tightened quite suddenly.

What had that been? It had been strong, for sure. Distant as well. It had a familiar taste to it, but its name... it's owner... it was hovering just out of reach. A fear, strong and powerful, the first in a long year, and the shade was too far away to inhale it and relish in its ferocity.

But he was never too far to benefit from it.

Then there was another fear that overshadowed the first, this one much closer. Pitch frowned, for this fear was one of being abandoned. Golden eyes gleamed when he realized it was coming from the child at his side.

Pitch glanced down at the face looking up towards his in concern.

"D-did I do sssomething wrong?" The boy grasped the loose fabric around the Nightmare King's legs in worry, knotting the textile around his fingers. "If I did I, I can fix it…"

Pitch sighed when the boy looked away suddenly, his tiny hands letting go of the obsidian cloak. He offered the boy a faint smile, just to relieve his worry, "No child you didn't do anything wrong."

Iago cocked his head, "Then,... are you hurt? Y-you stumbled…"

"I'm alright." Pitch's tone was distant, the shade trying to find the fear that had drifted to him from across the world "That was... pleasantly unexpected." Pitch straightened his shoulders, "All right, little one, let's continue."

* * *

(Outside Burgess)

"Okay, so they were standing right here, sniffing the ground sorta, I guess. And then they ran that way when they noticed us."

The Pooka, the Cossack, the Sprite, and the Believer stood in the very spot Jamie had last seen the wolves the day before. A light breeze whipped about them, and Jack sighed in relief.

"Oh, that's better." Jack narrowed his eyes in irritation at the complete lack of concern displayed from his partners. Sure, they were on a mission, but did he have to come? It was boring, hot, tiring, _hot_ , pointless, did he mention it was **_HOT_**? But no one noticed nor cared that the heat was practically 'roasting' him.

"How many did you say?" Bunny asked, inspecting what tracks were left in the dirt.

"Three. Three wolves." Jamie watched the Pooka place a hand to the ground.

The Guardian of Hope shook his head. "I dunno about wolves kid,but there was definitely three some 'things'. A wolf, sure, but the others..."

"Hey guys the tracks go that way..." Jack suddenly remarked, the boy having lost interest in listening and had wandered away from the group.

"Yes...Jack that's nice." North shrugged, the Cossack not really listening to the winter teen, instead focusing his attention on Bunny.

Jack rolled his eyes, cause, Hey! Why was he not surprised…he frowned suddenly when realization dawned on him…the tracks were going in the direction of his lake. The winter spirit didn't like anyone near 'his' lake, human, spirit, mythic, or weird wonky wolf thingys.

"Guys they went to my lake!"

The others started when the winter teen surged forward, his bare feet barely touching the earth as they carrying him swiftly into the woods.

"Jack wait for us!" North shouted as they rushed after retreating teen, the Guardian worried that these creatures could still be around.

Jack however wasn't listening, the boy racing along the trail, following the foot prints of a wolf, a big cat, an unidentified something, and-

He skidded to a stop, almost causing a pile up of the people following him. "Guys, the tracks changed!"

Bunny shoved him aside, his eyes scanning the ground. "Crickey, the winter dingo's right! There's a human track set here." Bunny pointed a way up the trail. "Now two! Three!"

"Oh, hey look, they just lead to that shack." Jack motioned to the run down building, the teen sighing in relief that whoever or whatever they were had not gotten to his sanctuary.

"And the animal tracks are gone."

"Werewolves, maybe?" North threw the suggestion out there as they examined the tracks that were definitely human foot prints. Though they did note that most of them were deeply imprinted on the toes, suggesting a sneaking behavior.

"Not likely. Only one set of wolf tracks." Jamie couldn't fathom why in the world anyone would be interested in this old dump? The boy shook his head at the fact the tracks circled the shack almost methodically.

"Plus, were-any things don't travel in packs. So, animagi?" Jack offered with a grin, proud for his vocabulary- he had been brushing up on his knowledge of other spirit's and things using North's vast library.

"Not just animagi Jack, it is predatory animagi." North muttered. "They were hunting."

The conclusion had a dark effect now that it had been spoken.

"You know what else is weird?" Bunny added. "I dropped Old Man of the Mountain off here about a week ago.

"Whoa-oh!" Jack laughed. "That dude is still alive?"

Bunny shot the teen a murderous look, before it melted to worry. "He was when I left him." The warrior whispered. The Pooka straightened suddenly, his face set. "Come on, the tracks lead inside." And without another word he bounded to the shack.

The other three, after sharing a worried glance, followed suit.

"Alright, be careful, we don't know if anyone is in th…" Bunny didn't finish his warning before North pushed open the antique door.

The poor door gave a squeal, giving in finally to the ravage of time. With a loud crash it fell inwards, raising a cloud of dust.

The Cossack pursed his lip and began an innocent whistle as he turned from the rubble, hands behind his back.

Jack and Jamie exchanged a look as they tried to stifle their laughter, while Bunny tried a more direct approach.

"Way ta go, mate."

With a chuckle, Jack pushed his way between the pair and into the cabin, letting out a sigh of relief now that he was in the shade of the building.

"Whoa, ankle-biter!" Bunny grasped the frost sprite's wrist, preventing another step, and pointed at his feet. "Tracks."

They followed them into the living room, or what was left of it, and took in the collapsed ceiling and a discarded blanket.

"Let's split up and look for clues..." North suggested. Jack and Jamie nodded.

"I have a bad feeling, mate." Bunny whispered, shaking his head before marching to the kitchen.

North, meanwhile, went to the dining room, leaving the two youngest together.

"Look, Jack!" Jamie whispered, as if speaking would disrupt the building into further decay. He pointed towards the back of the room, to a dark recess almost concealed by the rubble.

The pair maneuvered around the caved in roof to the small opening.

Timidly, Jack stuck his head through and blinked into the darkness. After a minute, he pulled his head back and glanced excitedly at Jamie.

"It's a hallway. Two rooms and a broom closet. Let's check it out!" And with a laugh, Jack lunged forward-

"Oof!"

"What it is?" Jamie cried, suddenly afraid, as Jack pulled himself back.

"Nothing. I just can't fit." Jamie frowned in response.

"Let me try." He answered, more bravely than he felt. And with a wiggle and a gasp, he was through. "J-jack..." he whispered, for the dark on one side was one thing, but on the other side...

"It's alright, Jamie. I'll wait here for you. See what you can find." Jack tried his hardest to sound calm and nonchalant, for the benefit of his friend.

"Yeah... o-okay..." Jamie trembled slightly as he ambled into the darkness.

A few minutes later, he was back, crawling his way into the sunlit area.

"Find anything? The frost sprite smirked.

"Oh, you bet. Hey guys!" The boy hollered, drawing the attention of Bunny and North.

The two Guardians instantly rushed to the boy's call, rounding the corner just as Jamie withdrew a handful of sharp, obsidian black sand.

"Pitch was here?" North gasped, his eyes staring in confusion at the black grains within the boy's palm.

"There wasn't much, and it was scattered across a bedroom." Jamie admitted. "And on the dresser, I found these cool things."

Jamie uncovered a small cluster of brownish-white feathers.

"That's from one of Mountain's eagles!" Bunny rushed forward, gently taking the delicate items from the boy. "I'd recognize it anywhere!" Suddenly the Pooka rounded on them.

"You see what this means, right? The bloody dingo's done something to Mountain! We have to find him!" Bunny cried.

"Now, let's not jump to conclusions." North didn't think that the Nightmare King would go so far as to harm Old Man, after all, that wasn't exactly Pitch's forte…However the Cossack wasn't so sure, after Pitch went as far as he did last year.

"What about the animagi? Pitch doesn't have that." Jack spoke quickly. He too didn't want to think the shade would do something to another.

He knew more than the others about Pitch's explanation for waging his war on belief…in fact, if he were honest with himself, Jack wasn't so sure that he would have made it a few more years before trying something as reckless as that... If Jack hadn't become a Guardian, Pitch would have become the closest thing to an ally he had...

"If Pitch was here, which he clearly was-" Bunny gestured wildly to the sand in Jamie's palm, blowing a few grains to the floor. "-then that wasn't animagi, that was Ignorance's shape-shifter!"

To that, no one had a rebuttal.

"Why would Man of the Mountain come to Pitch, anyways?" Jamie asked tentatively, but Bunny just shook his head.

"Mountain stayed out of 'sides', he just did business. He probably didn't even see it coming..." Bunny sighed before bunching his paws into fist, "That bloody shadow rat must have tricked Mountain into to coming here then..." The Pooka didn't finished his sentence, instead glancing out the broken window. "We have to find him."

"Da." North nodded, resting a determined hand on his scimitars.

They glanced at Jack.

Jack inhaled before reaching his decision. He would go along with them…if only to make sure that cooler heads prevailed when they found the shade. Since there had to be more to this story then what met the eye…

"I'm in."

Jamie fist pumped, not noticing the winter spirit's hesitant acceptance, "All right I'm in too!"

"To the sleigh!" North shouted as he led them out of the shack, a shower of dust falling from the rafters at his booming voice.

As they left, Bunny glanced back at the feathers, dusted with obsidian grains. Shaking his head, the Pooka went back and gently collected the delicate items.

At seeing the black sand infiltrate the smooth brown and white, his emerald eyes, normally full of care, filled with anger. "Pitch just made this personal." Then he was following the other's, his mind racing with all the horrible things that could have befallen his friend.

* * *

Footnotes:

*Rawgrahrha raaaaaahhgh!- I am sorry!

**Rara ragra ragrah?- What is wrong?

I am a terrible person and have decided the yetis will now speak quiet Wookie. I am ready to receive what ever punishment you deem necessary.

* * *

Thanks for reading guys! Don't know what I'd do with this story without you. Also, I'm taking up ideas for fluffy/angst-y stuff between Pitch and Iago. I have a few ideas, but I'm running out and I have space that needs filling while major plot developments happen elsewhere. So, help please?

On a side note, I would like to end this chapter with one of my new favorite quotes: "The only thing you need to wear a good hat is enough attitude."


	15. Chapter 15

Hello, my friendly friends! I just want to thank you all for the wonderful reviews you have given me. I look to you all for support and I really appreciate you taking the time to read review my work. Please keep it up!

This next chapter took a lot of thinking, even if it IS a little short, so please- continue to enjoy and review.

* * *

(With Pitch)

"Here we are..." A smooth silk voice spoke from the shadows of a tiny bedroom. From the darkness rose a tall shade, with skin of ash and eyes of gold, trailed by a young boy who clung to his dark robe as they arose from the shadows.

Pitch bit his lip, for the fear radiating from the little shape shifter was like waves to him. The shade initially had needed it; Iago's fear of shadow walking had been just enough to provoke the actual event from Pitch's energy after he had casually mentioned it. The movement through shadows had actually been a huge victory for the shade. Since his defeat by the Guardians Pitch had not been able to meld properly with the darkness as he used to. So when the boy's fear had given him the jump start he needed Pitch had welcomed it... and yet... he felt so... wrong about it.

The Nightmare King decided to chalk it up to a guilty pleasure and move on. His attention turned back to the task at hand…

There before him lay the peaceful form of a sleeping village boy, ignorant to the approaching end of his dreaming bliss.

Pitch snorted as he crept closer and could make out the details within the golden sand. It was a pretty simple dream of sheep-watching on a miniature mountain side that hovered over the child. "Bah, children these days have no imagination." The shade quipped as the soft yellow glow of dream sand reflected off his dark skin.

"What are we doing here?..." Iago whispered, his curiosity perked as he watched the spirit. Suddenly the boy seemed to remember that a certain shade was a tad bit upset with him, and quieted down with a tiny "Sorry..."

"It is as I explained a thousand times Iago, I'm spreading a nightmare. And this boy has the honor of being my first target." Pitch replied coolly, despite the pang in his chest from the boy's absurd fears. Pitch shook his head- the boy really had chosen poorly, since it was a simple fact that the Nightmare King was NOT a good choice of idols.

"How do you do that?"

Pitch chuckled slightly, the sound barely heard. "Watch and learn, Iago, watch and learn." The shade had never had an audience for his work, and it felt…kind of nice…though it would be warm day on the moon before he let anyone find out.

Daintily, nimble fingers hovered a moment over the peaceful dream, grateful for its presence, before lightly tapping the helpless mountain scene.

The black sand hissed as it crept across the dream like a plague, infecting the golden scene with fear. The dream sheep bleated and scampered into nothingness, leaving the boy in an unfamiliar wood, stranded and lost.

Pitch stared at his nightmare in pride, drinking in the energy from the vibrant fear.

"Wowwww!"

Golden orbs blinked, suddenly remembering his audience of one shape-shifter, who perched on the end of the bed, his expression one of...

There was no fear on his face, and none for Pitch to taste in the air. Only awe and amazement lit up the boy's soft features, inhabiting his mercury silver eyes. Those eyes did not blink as their owner morphed into the lithe silver kitten, slinking alongside the suddenly turbulent villager until he reached the scrunched up face.

Pitch watched in confusion and... surprisingly, delight... as the young spirit watched from the pillow, admiring a disastrous avalanche roar towards the dreaming boy, nothing but excitement in his gaze.

How could something so small, someone so young, be afraid of things that would give adults nightmares, but didn't look with terror at fear itself, standing right behind him?

Pitch was torn from his thoughts by the symbolic chime of a mental question from the shape-shifter.

The shade shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Pardon?" Pitch tried, hopeful that the Spirit of Deception would fail, just once, to notice his loss to his thoughts.

But no such luck- the cat turned to give him a inquisitive stare.

Silence stretched between them, and the shade averted his eyes to the nightmare, the villager now trapped in a cave, until he thought he would have to confess.

Iago, however, apparently decided not to say anything about the shade's attempt to trick him. Instead the boy turned his furry head back to the nightmare and asked his question again.

 _'Where did it come from?_ '

Golden eyes blinked in surprise, shocked that he had gotten away so easily. The answer reached the shade a moment later- fear of resentment. A foolish fear, if it were coming from any other spirit towards any other shade.

"I simply taint what was already there."

The kitten gave him a confused glance, quickly looking away once he realized he was being stared at.

Pitch chose to ignore the fact that the pointed ears turned flat against his head, but he could not ignore the fear that slowly choked the air.

' _What was there? I did not see anything_.'

This brought a look of surprise to the shade's face, "You are telling me you did not see the dream?"

The kitten cocked its head, sheer confusion reflected in his eyes ' _Dream…what is a dream?'_

For the briefest moment, Pitch thought the boy was pulling his leg…however the look on Iago's face quelled that thought.

"You…have never dreamt before, child?" Pitch bit his lip when the boy shrank slightly and stared out the window, fear of angering him radiating off the shifter.

' _No…no sir…I've…never had anything…worth dreaming about.'_

Pitch inhaled, hating himself for the next thing he needed to ask… "Do…do you not believe in the Sandman?"

Iago blinked, the silver eyes reflecting the moonlight, the child obviously trying to figure out what the man was asking him.

The shade sighed when fear of failing him drifted from the boy to him.

' _I…don't know who that is. S-sir_.'

Instantly the Boogeyman's face contorted into a grimace of pain and anger. His ash grey hands curled into fists, his jaw clenching in undignified malice. His eyes narrowed into hazy slits, and he grated his teeth in seething fury.

Just as children needed fear, they needed the Guardians as well. And to not believe in the most simple Guardian- The **_Sandman_**. To not believe in the Sandman was to not believe in _**imagination**_ itself.

What monster had taken the childhood out of this boy?

' _Mister Black?'_

By the time the shade turned around, Pitch was as stoic as ever.

"I'm sorry, little one. You... surprised me, is all."

Technically, that wasn't a lie, and it apparently passed the Lord of Deception's radar.

"As for your earlier question of where the nightmare came from, I poison Sandman's dream sand with fear. This time for the boy I have provided a rational warning not to wander off." His voice sounded cool like ice, even to his own ears.

Ice... Jack Frost...Fun... Did Iago believe in fun?

Pitch couldn't stop the frantic thoughts from entering his mind:

Wonder?

Did this poor child even have anything WORTH remembering?

No imagination, too cautious for fun, too afraid to wonder, nothing good to remember.

Hope? Did Iago have ANY hope left?

Pitch hated to think that HE was the last tether of hope the boy possessed.

 _'Why do you- did you-do just, only that?_ '

The boy's tentative question brought Pitch back to the room

 _'I mean…wouldn't it be better to...to make him see things that are truly... horrific? When he is awake?_ '

Pitch sighed, for when he had been young he would have had no problem doing such a thing…however he had learned from his centuries of existence of his purpose and to induce such things was…wrong.

"Nightmares are frightening lessons conjured in the subconscious of sleep. That is to say-" He continued at the bewildered stare he was receiving. ", the lessons I teach can only be reached in sleep, when the Sandman is out as well. He does give me inspiration from time to time, though." He gestured to the nightmare.

There was silence a moment as they watched the squirming village boy and his nightmare as he tried to dig himself out of the cave that was filling with water.

' _There was something there before the nightmare.'_

"Yes."

' _From the... Sandman..._ '

"Yes."

' _What does he look like?_ '

"Enough!" Pitch snapped, so harsh, so sudden, that Iago fell off the bed in a morphing heap. Fear exploded within the Nightmare King's skull, but Pitch denied its welcome. He marched through the shadow and appeared outside the hut, swallowing great lungfuls of the cool, crisp night air.

Fear poured into him from the sleeping boy in his writhing nightmare, and from the shape-shifter in his abandoned panic.

Pitch clenched his fist in anger…SUCH rich fear of abandonment, of punishment, of imprisonment. And for once in his existence, he hated every bit of it!

"Mister Black!?" The boy's human voice rang through the still air, high-pitched as his throat condensed in terror.

Instead of answering, Pitch tried to measure his breathing and cool his temper. After a deep breath (or two or three, maybe four), he faced the sky, to the great white face of the Moon, perched in the black quilt of stars near a cloud as if it would hide if the need arose.

"How _DARE_ you." The shade hissed in rage. "How _DARE_ you make a Spirit out of a child. How _DARE_ you abandon him without a shred of belief in _ANYONE_ else! How _DARE_ you skip over him when he stood on the brink of death! How many times, Man in Moon, have you left him to die? Why you-"

"W-wwho arrre you talking..." the rest of the sentence died in the boy's throat as his idol rounded on him in surprise. He shrunk, eyes wide, into himself and stared at the black clad feet before him, trembling in fear.

The Lord of Fear sighed in defeat- he simply couldn't take this child's fear any longer…it was both right and wrong at the same time, and immensely confusing. Golden eyes glanced upwards, Pitch snorting when, like a coward the it was, the moon seemed to dart behind its grey safety blanket in the sky.

"A monster in the darkness, Iago." Such a vague answer, and yet the little spirit put so much faith into it, cowering closer to Pitch's feet and staring into the nearby shadows with anticipation and terror. Accepting it as if he knew exactly what the shade meant, and who knows, maybe he did.

"I was scared you left me..." Iago whispered unnecessarily. "That I had upset you..."

"I'm not upset with you, child." Pitch responded instantly with a twinge of guilt, kneeling down to the boy's level. His heart clenched when in response, Iago scurried back, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring off into the woods.

"My anger is for-" Pitch jumped when the boy sat bolt upright.

"CROW!"

"Come again?" Pitch scanned the trees, standing as he caught sight of the lone crow on a dead tree above them.

It cawed once, twice, thrice, before flying north.

"Yes..." there was a slight twinge in the shade's chest, a calling tug, and Pitch turned to the boy in search of similar effects. But the boy was once more the mighty wyvern, crouched to accept his passenger.

"Iago." Pitch sighed, trying to relieve him of worry. In response, the great wyvern turned towards him, head low and gaze averted. The fear elevated into fear of punishment once more and the shade slowly approached him.

"I'm not upset with you, alright?" The Nightmare King reached a slow, gentle hand towards the boy's scaly face, rubbing the crest above the large eye. He jerked his hand back as the wyvern flinched away, the ground sending up a puff of dirt as the beast shuffled a few feet off.

'Iswald summons us.'

Golden eyes gleamed in one part surprise, one part awe, and another part excitement, before he realized the boy's actions. With a sigh of defeat, Pitch swiftly climbed aboard. The thick neck was soft and smooth, easily held with the knees, and the ash grey hands clutched the head spines in a vice like grip.

Even so, Pitch was NOT ready for the wyvern to _launch_ itself into the air after the crow, with such a vigorous strength it almost threw the shade from the broad back.

"What's the rush!?" The Nightmare King hollered over the shrieking wind.

'Iswald has something for us.'

Pitch inhaled sharply in excitement.

"Well, I guess we better not keep him waiting." Pitch tried again to stroke the mighty creature before him, giving a slight relieved smile as the shifter let him do so, however stiffly. But it was an improvement, none the less.

And with that pleasant thought in mind, the lanky Lord of Fear leaned into the wind as the wyvern swooped through the air with uncanny speed under the moonless sky.

* * *

All of the angst belongs to this story! All of the feels! Thanks again to my editor, frostofsummer! Digital cookies/brownies for you (don't know your preference, so have them all)! [::] (::) [::] (::)


	16. Chapter 16

Sorry this one took me so long guys. I did a bit more research than I planned, and on top of that had a hard time getting a chance to get online. Also, I know you're going to hate me, but this Chap isn't about Pitch and Iago and their new presents-

DON'T KILL ME YET, PUT YOUR TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS AWAY! This Chap resumes with Man of the Mountain.

* * *

(With MoTM)

The winds howled in the darkness, tossing drifts of white snow through the air in a furious rage of fury. Tiny flakes of innocent white were thrown asunder in all directions, victims of the winds unbridled rage. In the midst of all this fury was a beautiful hotel. This massive lie of comfort and relaxation stood in magnificent splendor a sharp contrast to the storm raging around it. Tendrils of frost crept up the buildings magnificent, stained glass windows, filling the panes with flowing tendrils of icy lace.

This kind of weather usually provoked the many people inside the hotel to appreciate the warmth and comfort their temporary housing provided. For them the building was a safe haven, a place where they felt secure. However, for one spirit, being within the hotel meant nothing but endangerment and anxiety.

Old Man of the Mountain had been around a very long time, not quite as long as Mother Nature mind you, but still quite a while. The spirit had "seen" many an evil-doer over the centuries, and he had told of their deeds as well as spread the news of their downfalls to many a relieved spirit.

He had stood sadly by as Pitch had grown power hungry, bringing about the Dark Ages in a whirlwind of fear and hatred. Man had been forced to observe Pitch driven into hiding, becoming a sullen monster of no real purpose. He had sadly watched the once proud Nightmare King reduced to nothing more than a shadow, spreading his fear like a plague of irrationality, instead of the antidote of reason it was meant to be.

Now after all this time, against all sense of reason, Man was seeing the old Pitch Black, the protecting warrior before the Boogeyman, returning. All because of slave child that had managed to worm his way into the darkness that had taken hold of the spirit's heart.

However, Man was not rejoicing. No in fact the old spirit was lamenting the fates. All he could wish for was for Pitch to let the child go quietly and resume his wretched existence. It would be better than his friend being killed…

"It's for Pitch's own good..." the blind spirit spoke out loud to no one, a vain attempt to convince himself that he had done the right thing in telling the slave master that Pitch had taken the shifter under his care. "It what's best for Pitch."

The talking did not help, for guilt still crept through his soul, as a river turns rock to dust.

"It cannot be helped. This monster of a spirit will engulf him. The manic will do anything to get the boy back..." Absentmindedly, knobby fingers brushed over his face, where bandages concealed the wound where the whip had clipped him. He smiled slightly, remembering the young girl that had came in to address the damage that had been done. The hands of the girl that had tended to the deep incision had been trembling, but she had done a good job none the less. Obviously, it had not been the first time she had assisted a soul with such an injury.

Man shuddered slightly at the thought of what injuries the man would inflict upon Pitch should the Nightmare King decide to keep the young shifter instead of returning him. When the man had been 'talking' with him Man had gotten a sense of desperation his threats…and a desperate soul was dangerous soul. And he had also gotten his name: Saral.* A name used in India for simple and straight.

Which was why the spirit's act of allowing him out of the dungeons had taken him completely by surprise. Yes, he had cooperated…but it would have simpler to keep him below in the dank cells than up where he could seen.

Not that Man was complaining mind you, the room Saral had "lent" him was extravagant and well furnished. In his exploration of it Man had discovered a plush bed fit for a king laying on one side against the wall, a hearty desk, and a chest of drawers across it, and due to his heightened sense the spirit had smelled the undeniable scent of rich mahogany which furthered his mental picture of the richness of his new 'abode'.

Across the room stood a large set of double doors which led to a large balcony where, during finer weather, Man was allowed attend to his job of providing the Realm their mail. Of course the master took every article of mail and had them searched for hidden clues to that might give away his location or his current predicament, and upon finding nothing would give the mail back to the Mailman of the Realm.

Then he would unlock the doors with a metal key and allow Man an hour to see to his job, always supervised by a brutish slave that only responded to some random, four digit number.

Usually once he had finished his job Man would sleep, the older spirit a bit drained after expending energy to send his letters where they needed to go. Man would go to the rich rug of Nyx-Fleece Ram** wool, which lay between the bed and the balcony and sleep upon the soft rich surface of the rug since the old spirit more accustomed to cushioned stone floors than beds.

However, for all the comfort around him Old Man knew it did not change bare facts- he was a prisoner. A proverbially mouse, under the claws of a cat who was not yet hungry.

Man jumped slightly when the heavy door to his room opened with a clunk, the sound interrupting his musing.

However the old spirit did not glance at his visitor, for Man knew it was either one of two people. Only the slave master and the slave girl ever came into his chamber, and he hoped beyond reason that it was the poor, sweet little girl.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

"I'm not particularly happy with you, Mountain." Saral's cool voice had an edge of steel.

"How so?" Man questioned dryly, pondering what could have gone wrong and not liking the possibilities.

The plush carpet swished indicating that the master was walking to him.

"Mister Black and the boy…" the spirit's voice hissed in Man's ear. "They're gone."

Man's head snapped to face the younger spirit. His breath hitched in his throat, not missing the underlying threat of what would happen to him now.

But, never mind that… more importantly, what had happened to Pitch? Had the spirit been killed by the shifter…had the Nightmare King been devoured by his own lust for power?

"Surely you must know SOMETHING, Man of the Mountain." Saral's voice interrupted Man's panicked thoughts.

Man shook at how threatening the man's voice sounded.

"Mind telling me where they are?"

"I..." Man took a deep breath in an attempt to still his racing heart, knowing full well what his next stament would bring. "I haven't the faintest idea-"

"You liar!"

Man's stiffened when cold steel suddenly pressed against his throat, the blade reverberating with a spiritual aura.

The old spirit gasped as coldness enveloped his mind, numbing these pesky thoughts of Pitch's safety and his own current issue.

It drove these thoughts away leaving nothing but a cold void that stung his mind as if a thousand bees had turned loose within it.

"Once again, Mister Mountain. Where did my shape-shifter go?"

"I do not know." The words blurted from the elderly tongue, unhindered by filters or caution. Man began to panic: he had not thought to speak yet his tongue had provided the words anyways.

What was this madness? What was this spirit doing to him? What sort of weapon did he hold that would force a person to speak without consent?

Man's heart clenched in fear: what else was this monster going to get out of him? Man knew many secretes of the Realm so should the man tire of trying to find the Shifter, he could learn all kinds of things… Man's breath hitched when the stinging sensation intensified again, Man had only milliseconds to think about his next choice of words before they too up and vacated the spirit's body:

"I told Pitch to find out his origins, not to leave." Man froze the words then and there, fighting off this stinging, mental attack. "Perhaps... He is... On his way... here..."

The blade disappeared, the ice across his mind melting.

Man let out a few shaky breaths of relief when he felt the spirit step back.

"I highly doubt that, Mister Mountain." A pause. "Although, you could be right…your words were nothing but true."

"As if I could have spoken anything other…" Man's voice held every ounce of ire he had for the man who had just assaulted his mind

"Just be glad I 'asked' nicely Mountain. Most of the time I use the Mind-Purge Blade after I have killed a person." A derisive snort left the spirit, "Though I must say I am impressed you managed to fight off the weapons affect and not be reduced to blabbering fool for the rest of eternity."

Man rolled his blind eyes at the mirthful tone in the man's voice, the spirit obviously remembering another unfortunate soul he had used the blade on.

"At any rate, Pitch would have been much better off if he had left my shape-shifter alone."

Man felt a twinge of annoyance towards the master for his possessiveness of the child, "YOUR shape-shifter would have died had Pitch not saved it!"

"Oh really? How so?" Saral scoffed at the thought of the Nightmare King actually saving someone.

"The boy was on the verge of catching pneumonia when Pitch found him, and you're lucky the child didn't lose a finger or toe to frostbite!"

Another pause.

Then he distinctive 'shink' of a sword being sheathed.

"I see." The slave master murmured. "Tell me, Man of The Mountain. What exactly is your relationship to Pitch Black?"

Man snorted and averted his sightless gaze to the cold glass.

"Now, Mountain, don't treat me like that. It is mere curiosity that drives my question. It matters not to me how he stands in your eyes, as I am sure you already know. Pitch just doesn't seem to be a very likable character***, from what I've heard about him. I don't know how much of those stories are true. But regardless of them Pitch evidently has your approval, which says quite a lot."

Man gave a sigh. He might as well indulge the man, if only to keep the guy from causing him further harm. "I honestly don't know the answer myself. Pitch and I are nearly the same age, but that is about where the similarities end. We are, in the end, two very distinct, polar opposites and yet, like magnets, we attract one another into a close friendship. However, unlike magnets, how Pitch and I stand one another will forever be a mystery."

"You both share a likeness in being stubborn." Saral chuckled, not very cold for once, and Man joined him.

"Maybe so." Man's smile dried and he gave a small sigh. "Sir, I am afraid that my good friend may not give up the boy so easily."

"Hm?"

Man took a deep breath and planned his next words carefully: "If Pitch finds out about the boy's... talents... I am fairly certain he will try to use them in his war against the Guardians of Childhood. If Pitch does the shifter could get hurt... or even killed. I hate to think of what you would do in response."

There was a long silence, and Man tried his best to have patience.

"That will not happen, I can assure you." The voice was cool and nonchalant.

"Oh really?" Man's voice, however, was tainted with doubt and sarcasm.

"Indeed. I have placed a suppression collar on the child that will keep him in his human form until his name is spoken." The prideful spirit snorted, "And even I do not know the child's true name…as I never bother to learn it before collaring him." A sneer came to the man's tone, "How could your friend find out something which even I myself do not know, while the boy is silenced?"

"Couldn't the child just write it for Pitch to see?"

"Impossible. The boy is illiterate."

Man was starting to see why the spirit was so confident. "Does anyone else know the boy?"

"He has no family and no friends." Saral chuckled, "In fact no one knows of his existence beyond those of this place…and they would never speak of him for fear of me."

"So, Pitch would be hard pressed to find his name?" Man pondered.

"Absolutely." This man poured so much confidence and pride into his statement that it was hard not to believe him.

"Very well..." An idea struck Man like a thunder bolt hot to a tree. "Aha! A moment, if you would!" He stood, stretching the aching cold out of his joints, before shuffling over to the rich desk.

There on the smooth surface lay large stacks of thick, yellow-white parchment, an ink well, and a solitary eagle feather. Gently, the knobby fingers lifted the fragile feather, whispering a message into it, before letting it go.

With a jolt, the pen began to write on its own, dipping itself into the black ink of its own accord.

The master glanced over Man's shoulder right as the feather lay itself to rest, its task complete.

The elderly spirit rounded on his captor with the fresh sheet. "Would you permit this to be mass produced and sent globally?" Man inquired as the spirit gently took the letter with hands as cold as his voice.

"Hmm..." The voice speculated aloud as he read over the content. "And this would not seem suspicious?"

"It is not at all uncommon for me to search for my friends." Man replied, hopeful.

Saral clicked his tongue loudly, so that it echoed across the room, and his door opened almost instantly.

"Yes master?"

Man smiled slightly when he heard the little girl's voice whisper from the doorway.

"Find my brother and tell him to meet me in my office post-haste. I want everyone on full alert."

The door clunked shut again as the girl scurried off to do her duty.

"I quite like that one." Man murmured, half to himself.

"You may end up having her when the day is done, if this works." Saral handed the parchment back to the mailman. "Please do hurry. Knock when you need them sent, or if you happen to run out of ink. I will have someone attend to it immediately."

"I will, good sir."

The door opened and Man turned back to his work.

"Mountain?"

The elderly spirit paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"I don't give second chances easily. Consider this you last lucky break."

Man nodded as the door slammed shut. "Duly noted." The ancient spirit turned to his task with vigor.

* * *

(Ignorance POV)

Ignorance was simply not the dancing type. No waltzing, no tangos, no contemporary, no salsas, no tap dancing, nothing, nada, zilch- Ignorance had never seen the point of such frivolity…

But a victory dance? Oh, he could pull one of those off any day.

"A search warrant!" The spirit cried in his office. "A completely legal, respected, GLOBAL catch and release! Oh, that little runaway will be back where he belongs any day now! Finally!"

It was not common for Ignorance to be particularly happy on the best of business days. So it is perfectly reasonable that when Innocence stepped quietly into the dim room, he was slightly disturbed to see his elder brother failing miserably at some sideways shuffle that may have been popular for a New York Minute+ in the 1960's.

"Ahem."

Ignorance whirled around so fast he almost fell to the floor.

Innocence raised an eyebrow in response.

"Innocence. I... didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously." The younger brother raised his eyebrow further, still trying to figure out what had come over his older brother.

An awkward silence stretched between them.

"What was-"

"Please, have a seat." Ignorance interrupted him with a wave of his hand.

"Right." The younger sibling slowly reclined into the armchair before his brother.

Ignorance, for all the embarrassment he had been exposed to, remained calm and collected. "We have another ally in search of the Fear spirit and the shape-shifter." The manager whispered across the table, his co-manager smiling in relief.

"That is good news. It almost justifies whatever that was-"

"Yes, well, Old Man of the Mountain has agreed to assist us confidentially. He is sending out search requests for Mister Black, whom apparently is an old friend. With his global access, I predict the monster will be back with a month's time."

"Man of the Mountain?" Innocence admired. "Is he staying here?"

"Yes, I 'asked' for his help and he was, escorted, here by one of my huntsman. Mountain will be using our hotel as a base while we search."

The younger sibling nodded in excitement.

"Please send word to the Guardians that we will be obtaining resources shortly to help in their... expedition. Only…do not tell them it is Mister Mountain that will be helping." Ignorance quickly played cover up to his mistake of word choice- if the Guardians knew that Man was safe, they would surely lose their searching vigor. "Don't tell the Guardians it is Mister Mountain we have helping us. The Guardians are very prideful and I do not want to disrespect them by having another helping out."

"No brother. The Guardians will not hear of him."

Innocence nodded curtly before standing, swiftly crossing the room. At the door, he paused and turned back to his brother with a mischievous smirk. "You know... I think I know a few people that could help with your danc-"

Ignorance slammed a palm down on his desk, pointing a warning finger at his amused sibling. "Not a word, Innocence. Not. A. Word."

Innocence laughed lightly before closing the door behind him.

* * *

*Saral- Indian name meaning straight and simple.

**Nyx-Fleece Ram- I literally stole a card from Magic the Gathering, aka super advanced Pokemon.

***doesn't seem to be a very likable character- ironic, since Pitch is my fav character.

+New York Minute- for those of you who don't know, this is a very American expression that means a VERY short period of time, since everything in New York City moves a mile a minute.

* * *

So. Man is working with Ignorance and doesn't know it. Or Saral, as he also goes by. I thought I was going to kill him, but I think I've grown quite fond of him so he lives! Now you have my permission to strangle me.


	17. Chapter 17

Hello friendly friends! I hope that you are doing well. If not, let me brighten up your day with a "thank you follower" and an update!

* * *

"So, where is he?" The Boogeyman pondered as he pushed the mighty doors inward. The shade's feet made no sound as the Nightmare King crossed the threshold and entered the sanctuary that he had come to call home for the past few days. Golden eyes glanced back at the bare footed shapeshifter that was following closely, "Well?"

"The crow is missing, Mister Black." The boy piped, his eyes darting around the room in disappointment. He had completely forgotten the previous discussion with the shade just moments ago at the village, instead completely enthralled now with finding the ancient soul that had summoned them.

Pitch, however, had not forgotten, the conversation. And though he too wanted to find their summoner, the shade was still immensely troubled by what had transpired within the town. However, he was willing to move forward if only to alieve the emotion he might experience should he pry into the young child's past…since he was certain it was filled with hellish experiences.

"Where did it go?" He asked instead.

The boy at his feet glanced around, searching for some sign as to where the great Iswald awaited them, "I…I am not sure…Mister Black."

A booming gong sounded within Pitch's mind, and instantly he knew where the ancient soul had gone.

It seemed that the shifter had also received the same cue as the boy followed him, in the same trancelike state as the shade.

Almost as one shade and shifter strode from the door and into the inners of the sanctuary. A loud echoing 'thud' sounded as the door closed behind them, though neither spirit seemed to notice.

Pitch and Iago followed their souls across the foyer and around the statue, to a set of french doors of dark black wood set under the stairs. To his knowledge, Pitch hadn't seen them the entire week that he had been residing within the place.

The door handles were brass, dingy from years of abandonment, and the doors creaked in protest as Pitch's long pale fingers opened them wide.

He and the child paused in the doorway, both having to take a moment to absorb the room before them.

Before them in grandeur beauty lay a dark room clad in obsidian marble from floor to ceiling. The back of the room and the ceiling were either identical marble, or lost in the darkness. Pitch bet the latter. Furthermore, the seams from floor to wall were shrouded in mysterious shadows, everything so dark that not even the Boogeyman could see beyond the light.

Which was a fact that bothered the shade a bit, since the only darkness Pitch could not see past was made through Void magic, a dangerous thing to toy with, but relatively stable once apperated. He hoped that whomever had placed these Void infused shadows had taken care when conjuring them, for Void magic tended to release a toxic pheromone when threatened.

Pitch inhaled hesitantly, and was relieved when the shadow's scent did not bare the twinge of toxin, instead holding an almost lavender tint. He knew instantly that these shadows had been woven with Void magic that had been trained to attack any being that tried to enter them, should that person be filled with malice or greed.

"Mister Black…look at those."

Pitch's mind was brought from the shadows by Iago's voice, following the boy's thin fingers with his eyes across the room to candles that were flickering with blue flames, the beautiful adornments casting the room in a blue glow. They lined the room, hovering at staggering heights around the walls, save for five candles in the middle.

"Those are known as Eternal Candles child and they are quite rare."

"Their pretty…"

Pitch fidgeted slightly, seeing as he wasn't exactly used to these types of…exchanges. So instead of continuing it, the shade returned to looking around the room.

A black carpet led from the doors to the candles, its golden trim the only thing separating it from the black floors. And under the candles lay an altar, of identical marble to the room, save for two thick, vertical stripes of white running up the stand. The alter was about a foot square, and four feet off the ground.

And perched at the head was the stone crow, its wings frozen in an wide, outstretched posture to encompass the podium, and its eyes void of life.

"Come child." Pitch whispered, the shade holding the thick doors open with one long arm to allow the child to enter. The shade duly noted the lack of fear from the boy as the child bounced past him.

Pitch ignored the boy's enthusiasm. " _This is MY kind of environment._ " The shade thought as the door closed behind them with a dull, echoing thunk.

"What is this place?" The Nightmare King whispered, not wanting to disrupt the serene scene.

Iago's voice was distant with awe as he answered. "This is the Chamber of the Past."

Pitch cocked his head questioningly. "Beg your pardon?"

Iago turned, his eyes and hair reflecting the dim candlelight in a blueish silver tinge. "It is the place where our history lays," the boy's voice was toneless, a nostalgic memorization of some historic source. "…and artifacts of the past are hidden from those unworthy. It is where any who can reach may hide their secrets and desires and none can retrieve them save themselves or those they deem worthy."

"Iswald deems us worthy... of what?" Pitch probed, now thoroughly intrigued.

"The Great King summoned us here, and he was the first to place an artifact. I can only guess Iswald wants to give us something of his own!"

The last note squeaked as the lad became excited, and thus gently grasped the dark sleeve of his idol, tugging gently.

"Let's go, Mister Black! Let's go see!"

Pitch allowed himself to be led down the walkway, his golden eyes widening in surprise at the single content of the alter.

A Kirin* skull lay on the platform, the golden horns spiraling towards the crow. Its pale nose faced the pair, its eye sockets occupied by Iolite** stones.

The skull was hollowed out where the foreseeing mind would have laid, instead housing a water like substance. Its scent of the willow blossoms brought a longing smile to the ashen face.

Pitch was drawn from his thoughts by a gentle tugging on his robe.

At his feet was a silver ferret, reared against his legs.

' _Uh, er, sir... I um, I can't see... could I, maybe... just for a bit..._ ' the poor creature's voice echoed within Pitch's mind, tinged with fear that he was asking too much.

Sighing, Pitch knelt and extended an arm to the tiny creature.

' _Thank you sir! Thank you thank you thank you!_ ' The little mammal scurried up the length of Pitch's arm to rest on the spirit's shoulder with a tiny grateful squeak.

"Now, onto present matters... what do we do?" Pitch muttered, irritated that he couldn't solve this on his own.

A second later the answer struck him:

"The raven charm." The two spirits spoke at once

' _How did you know that, sir?_ ' The ferret gave the shade an incredulous look.

"I had to use it to contact Iswald." The shade shrugged

Iago gave a tiny chirp, the shifter impressed by his idols resourcefulness, ' _Do you know what to do now?_ '

"Of course child. I am the Nightmare King, and several centuries of experience lay up my sleeve." Pitch unclasped the charm from around his thin neck and dangled it above the bowl…not at all sure that was the course of action. However, he wasn't about to admit to the boy that he had no idea what to do. Even though the boy now already knew- Pitch inwardly cringed at his mistake.

The shade let out puzzled huff, contemplating his next move.

The Lord of Fear almost yelped in surprise- thankfully managing to restrain himself from what would have undoubtedly been an embarrassing act- when the obsidian bird began to move, spastically at first, until it stretched smoothly and opened its beak in a tiny, silent yawn.

With a slow shake of its head, the feeble thing reached a clawed foot into the water, plunging it right in without a ripple. The foot disappeared completely, and not a moment later the shade jerked his hand back in surprise as a sudden weight appeared from the charm.

A black box, wrapped in a tiny, silver ribbon, fell from the pendant's clutches onto the alter.

Pitch gently placed the now still charm to the side and lifted the small box.

It was made of the same dark wood as the doors behind him, and engraved on its flat surface was a crow in flight, with a tendril of willow blossoms in its beak and a small chalice gripped tightly in each foot.

' _That's the royal Blademaster's emblem_.' The ferret chirped softly. ' _They not only made weapons, but were skilled in using them, and often enchanted them as well._ '

Eyes wide, the Boogeyman untied the ribbon and opened the box on silent hinges.

Inside a foam mold was a strange, cylindrical object with a black cloth grip and golden carvings on each end. On one side was the head of a crow, its beak open in a silent caw, and on the other end was a snake, its jaws gaping. Both were molded with intricate detail, with eyes of Iolite, the contents of their throats lost in shadows.

Behind the heads were identical silver bands, engraved with six runes each.

"It's a... handle?" Pitch murmured, puzzled.

' _No way!_ ' The ferret chirped in excitement and obvious recognition. With a squeak the creature scurried down Pitch's arm and laid its tiny paws on the band behind the snake ' _Watch!_ '

The band rolled under Iago's push.

Pitch dropped the handle in surprise, the ferret squeaking as it tried to hold on, as something shot from the snake's mouth, a dark twisting tendril that writhed into a solid in less than a second. The result was a dark wooden rod that ended in a golden prong.

Golden orbs widened into disks, the shade hurrying forward and twisting the other band in excited and surprised.

Another wooden rod lunged from the crow's beak, but this end beheld something far more spectacular.

"Well damn me to Hades and back!" The Nightmare King admired the broad, silver scythe now glistening in the flickering light of the torches.

It was about a foot wide and a good five feet long. An six inch wide section in the center was hollowed out for about three feet, and held a watery substance that shimmered waves of white and black. Along the needle sharp edge of the blade, tendrils of ivy crept to a merging point at the very top.

The resulting weapon had a rod as tall as Pitch, and a blade reaching like a claw above him. The whole thing radiated with a fierce aura, and almost seemed to whisper its previous uses to its new beholder.

' _My turn, my turn, my turn!_ ' The ferret deftly leapt to the alter, lifted the bird in its tiny jaw, and dangled it over the skull.

Once more the foot reached into the water, and a moment later Iago was almost dragged into the skull by a new found weight. Still in awe and surprise, Pitch lifted the charm and the produced item out for the shifter.

It was nothing more than a brownish green satchel with a brass buckle and a cloth strap.

Confused, Pitch opened the pouch, but the inside was lost in the same Void magic as the recesses of this room.

' _Yes! This is awesome!_ ' With a chirp, the ferret leapt past Pitch's arm and into the bag- and disappeared.

Pitch simply stared, somehow not at all surprised by this sudden development. Maybe it had something to do with all the other incredible things he had seen so far, but whatever it was, it seemed petty average for people to disappear in sacks, for this place anyways.

"There's so much stuff in here, Mister Black!" Iago's voice echoed from the depths of the bag, no longer within his mind indicating to the shade that the boy had shifter back to his human form. In the bag. A reverse rabbit out of the hat trick.

"Iago!? How is this possible?" Pitch stuck his face near the black opening of the bag. "You're small, but you're not THAT small!"

In response to his voice, a barn owl launched forth from the bag and perched upon the podium.

' _Shape-shifters were first a tribe of respected enchanters. When the Dark Ages started, people grew superstitious and became afraid of them and their "dark magic", so they created portals to safer places through almost anything. Archives were built in rooms deep underground with no windows or doors, and the only way to and from them were through these portals._ '

Pitch glanced around the dark room, amazed and humbled by the blessings of an ancient king.

"A weapon that doesn't rely on my energy, and a collection of odds and ends that only we can reach. But why?" The gears in Pitch's head were suddenly turning too fast. "Does Iswald WANT me to finish what I started? Because I saved you? But, that doesn't make sense, why should he... assist ME?"

 _'I dunno why._ ' The owl shrugged with a hoot. ' _But he clearly wants to help you. And he's given you stuff to live without him…We can't stay here forever._ '

"Oh?" Pitch dryly inquired. "And why not? Iswald said this was sanctuary was as much mine as yours! And furthermore," The shade hastily continued when he realized the boy would try and herd them back to his original lair. "we cannot go back to my lair since the Guardians know where that is."

A long silence stretched between them, the wide eyes of the owl boring holes into Pitch's soul. Clearly, Iago caught on to the cover up.

Was the shifter going to question it? And if he did what would- could- Pitch say to that? That he had no control over his element, the very Nightmares that earned him his royal title?

That was out of the question…Then WHAT should he say?

' _We should travel to spread your fear, Mister Black_.'

Pitch blinked in surprise, struck by the spirit's lack of... anything. There was no questioning, no accusations, no sarcastic remarks.

So the child KNEW he was bluffing. And he just didn't care?

Pitch internally scoffed. Maybe it was just that he was an adolescent, oblivious and ignorant to anything he didn't want to see.

But as for the boy's advice...

"Well, I suppose we could make a few laps around the world. After all, it's always night time somewhere." Suddenly all the cogs in Pitch's mind ground to a screeching halt, one sudden, tiny thought bringing him to an absolute standstill. "We can come back if we want to, right?"

Silence stretched for an immeasurable amount of time. A painful, knowing silence that the shade refused to acknowledge.

The owl shuffled on its perch and the shade gave a few testing swings of his new weapon.

Pitch knew his answer, but he denied it so strongly, he had almost convinced himself otherwise when the shifter finally spoke again:

 _'This is a sanctuary. An enchanted, ancient sanctuary for the souls of deceased shape-shifters.'_ With a huff, the owl lighted down to the ground, landing as a boy once more with satchel in hand.

The Nightmare King gave him a quizzical glance, as if pretending could end his sadness.

"This place... is impossible to find, unless you truly need it." The young boy sighed as he slung his new possession over his shoulder as if he had owned it his whole life.

The Boogeyman scowled at the boy for voicing his knowledge aloud, earning a healthy dose of fear once more from the child. Denial crept under Pitch's skin and anger took roost in his chest. He glanced around the marvelous room, taking in the dark marble and high arches with satisfaction.

His mind wandered outside the archives, to the foyer, the statue, the great valley beneath them- and, above them, the family tree.

Furthermore, all around them were the souls, hiding in every nook and cranny of this place, as much a part of this building as the very stones of its walls.

"Mister Black?"

The boy's voice was like a tether that snapped his illusion. Pitch had not realized just how much this sanctuary had been affecting him up until this point. Everything, from the crumbling ceiling to the spiteful statue, the souls, the willow tree, Iswald and the queen (whom Lucius had referred to as Elda***), every piece of this place was burying itself deep into his soul.

Which was why the boy was right. He didn't WANT to leave now, and come tomorrow he might not BE ABLE, even if he wanted, which at that point he wouldn't dream of. Soon, he would be trapped in this sanctuary and die of Fading, forever an ignorant, blissful soul.

Would that be so bad? He asked himself suddenly, biting his lip.

YES. That would be submission, giving in to the want of the world. Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, the Lord of Fear, the Boogeyman, had a purpose, a reason for existing, and by Hades if he were to die, he would not only fail the world, but himself as well and that was NOT acceptable.

"And you?" Pitch sighed "Where will you go Iago? You can't stay around me forever. I guess you'll just hide out here until the end of your days, I suppose." The shade could not keep the note of scorn out of his voice, but upon hearing the boy's response, he wished he could swallow his words whole:

"You saved my life and freed me from my master. Having done so, you-" Here the child suddenly stooped low in a respectful bow. "-are my new master until you declare otherwise or until I spend my dying breath attempting to carry out your requests."

Pitch's eyes widened to saucers, his jaw slackening and his brows furrowing together. By the time the boy stood, the shade had regained composure, still with a knitted brow and speculating look in his golden orbs.

A life devoted to HIM, a child's life devoted to the BOOGEYMAN?

Was the boy TRYING to make his mind explode?

* * *

*Kirin- mythological creature originating from parts of Asia, said to appear as a goat or deer with dragon like scales and a golden aura about them, and only appeared in times of peace or when the land is ruled by noble men.

**Ioloite- a violet-blue stone that is said to provide insight and perception

***Elda- Norse for fiery woman

* * *

Send a virtual fist bump to my beta reader frostofsummer and review! I love your comments, I drink them up like iced coffee and they make just as much excited.


	18. Chapter 18

I. Am. SO. Sorry. I did not mean to put this off so long but I did and GAH! *bangs head against wall* This is what happens when I no getty the internetty! Whatever, it's here now, let's make the best of it.

* * *

There is a big difference between knowing and believing. Everyone KNEW the Sun orbited the Earth, but Aristarchus of Samos* BELIEVED otherwise. Everyone KNEW the Earth was flat, but Eratosthenes** BELIEVED the Earth was round.

So it makes sense that Iago KNEW the Guardians existed, but he did not BELIEVE in what they stood for. And it makes sense that, like the majority of the population during the times of those two revolutionists, Iago believed himself to be correct.

It was an empty fact, void of reason or purpose. It was like acknowledging the Sun and knowing that you were never going to see it up close in person.

But as for Pitch, Iago was never more faithful. Iago knew of the Boogeyman and believed in his purpose, and Iago believed wholeheartedly that The Nightmare King's purpose was of complete purity and necessity. As far as the child was concerned the Guardians were idiots, sure, whoever and wherever they were.

So, for Pitch's sake, Iago would wait for the shade to make his move and show those morons the awesomeness of his power.

For now, he didn't mind being Pitch's only mode of transportation. It gave the shade a moment to relax as he rode between the smooth shoulders of a mighty wyvern.

No matter how hard the Nightmare King tried, Iago was not fooled. The boy knew Pitch could not move long distances without him. And it wasn't just the Boogeyman's tiny slip-ups that told him so.

It was in the tiny cuts on the shade's hand as the wary spirit tried to soothe him. It was in the jagged and harsh edges of the, none-the-less beautiful, nightmare. It was, quite literally, in the man's coal black hair and in the tears of his once majestic robe.

Iago could see that the nightmares had not treated their master kindly. And he could see that the Boogeyman was weak.

It was painfully obvious in the stiffness of the man's grey limbs and the dullness in his once gleaming eyes. Now the man's golden orbs were nothing but a dull bronze exaggerated with tired tinge. It was buried in the weariness of the British voice and the fuzzy recesses of Pitch's words.

Iago could tell that the Bogeyman was not doing well, in fact he worried that the shade was on the verge of fading.

Try as he might, Pitch Black could not fool the Spirit of Deception, nobody could.

Iago knew the Nightmare King, despite his pride, needed him.

The child accepted this without question, though there was something that confused him…and that was the spirit himself. Most only gave off an aura of deceit when they were lying, but with Pitch there was a constant aura that radiated off of the shade.

However it was not the pungent odor that Iago had come to hate when those spirit's deceived him for their own gain. Or the usual bitter herb like scent that bloomed with one deceives another.

No, the aura coming from the Nightmare King was a distinct, slightly pleasant, tartness taste that only came from deceiving one's self.

What was Pitch lying to himself about? Iago could only sense the false, not tell the truth. It troubled him immensely, but the child knew he would injure Pitch's pride, and possibly provoke his anger, if he inquired such, so he resorted to pondering it on his own.

And so Iago made up his mind that he would wait. The answer would show up eventually, who knows in how long, but he could wait.

"Iago?"

He startled, his large wyvern shape flickering in surprise.

"Whoa, hey-" Pitch yelped, evidently feeling the loss of body beneath him before Iago regained control.

' _I'm sorry sir! I'mreallyreallysorry! Ijustlostfocus and-_ '

"Whoa, whoa slow down child." Pitch spoke slowly, gently rubbing the back of Iago's scaly head.

It was actually very soothing, but Iago still wasn't sure at what cost the comfort came, since often his Master would offer comfort only to reveal that it was nothing more than a cruel joke and delve out punishment instead. So out of habit Iago flinched under the shade's cool touch.

"Child..."

Instantly Iago felt guilty when the man sighed. Pitch must think he was terrified of him...

"I was just wondering where we were going?"

Iago blinked. Yes. Destination. Where to? They needed a high population...

He slowly banked to the south, following the Norwegian coast.

' _I was thinking France, Mister Black._ ' Iago answered slowly, pondering the wisdom of this choice. France was just as famous for its countryside as it was for Paris, so where in France would they-

"I could use a trip to that countryside. It's very quiet and easily startled. That's a good place to start."

Decision made.

' _That's what I was thinking._ ' Iago nodded his massive head.

"Have you been to France?" The shade leaned forward, his voice betraying a bit of curiosity and surprise.

' _No sir. I've never been outside of Norway, except to find you in North America. But that trip was mostly ocean on a huge boat._ ' Iago left out that all he had seen of Norway was the view from his previous master's window, and that it had usually been blurry with tears of pain and fear, and that the trip to Burgess was nothing more in his memory than an adrenaline fuzzy haze.

"The French countryside is wonderful. I'm sure you'll like it."

Iago nodded once more, and the trip fell into silence.

* * *

Iago landed on the dirt street outside the tiny cluster of homes. This place was in the midst of a large, luscious meadow, with rich farming land and wildflowers scattered abroad. The buildings were humble and modest, but pristine and elegant as well. The red roof tiles reflected the light of the crescent moon, and they stood like something fresh off a movie set.

This particular set of homes rested on a hillside, with a large, ancient forest uphill and a creek at its base. A watermill creaked and spun at the water's edge.

Pitch slid off Iago's neck on the outskirts of the village, waiting patiently for the wyvern to shift into a more mobile form. He nodded his approval when the boy shifted to a barn owl and flapped up to his shoulder.

' _So, more nightmares?_ ' Iago asked, hopeful.

"Hm..." Pitch surveyed the area alongside him, taking in the miscellaneous wooden model cars and planes, the little dolls with button eyes and yarn for hair, the occasional tricycle and the stubbles of pastel colored chalk dotting the yards. "Yes, I suppose so."

' _How are you feeling?_ ' Iago decided it was safe to probe a little, spurred on by an approaching idea.

"Ehm..." Pitch made a noncommittal noise, accompanied by a shrug. "Better. Nowhere near my full potential, but better, I suppose."

Iago took a deep breath, his feathers fluffing, as his excitement rose ' _M-may I suggest something?_ ' He mentally whispered.

The Boogeyman gave him a suspicious glance that Iago shuffled under, staring at the ground.

' _I was just thinking..._ ' He started then stopped, he was being way to presumptuous, why in the world would this spirit so powerful be interested in anything he had to say?

"Yes?"

Iago glanced up in surprise. The Boogeyman wanted his idea! He was interested! The child was so excited, he felt like doing somersaults, but he held his dignity.

 _'I was wondering...isn't adult fear more powerful than children's?_ '

Silence stretched between them, and Iago could tell he was on thin ice. He held his breath and waited patiently, averting his gaze to the setting moon. The sun would rise here soon. They had to work quickly if Pitch was going to get anything.

"Child." Pitch said flatly. He was trying to stay reasonable, but it was obvious that he was offended.

Iago mentally kicked himself.

"I have been doing my job for thousands of years. I have tried my work on adults several times throughout those years, and trust me, it just doesn't work the same."

Here the shade paused, his eyes gleaming slightly before he continued.

"Children wake up from their nightmares and can't separate it from reality. Adults wake up, realize it was just a dream, and go back to sleep. The short surge of power I get from an adult is minuscule to the power I get from a child."

Iago shrank slightly when the man looked at him.

"Furthermore, the range of fears in an adult are much smaller than those in children. It is harder to scare them, and my work is limited. So, yes, while fear is more powerful in adults, it is not nearly as beneficial as the fears of children."

Nodding, Iago straightened his feathered shoulders and faced Pitch once more.

' _Will you try something for me? Just once?_ ' When the shade gave him a half skeptical, half irritated glance, he hurriedly added: ' _If it doesn't work, I won't bother you again. I promise..._ '

Silence settled between them, so dense and still that the crickets seemed incredibly loud.

"Fine." Pitch finally snapped, but he must have felt guilty about the resulting flinch from the owl, because he continued softly. "Alright. We'll try it your way. However-" he added more sternly. "If it doesn't work, you will not interrupt me any further."

' _Deal!_ ' Iago blurted before Pitch could rethink his offer. With a fluff of his feathers, he took flight. ' _Find an adult and give them a nightmare...about..._ ' he drawled as he surveyed the quaint meadow and the majestic woods beyond it. That forest probably sheltered some form of wildlife...

' _Wolves! Make it about wolves, and leave the rest to Iago Deci!_ '

Pitch rolled his eyes when the owl launched off his shoulder and flew ahead of him. The shade decided to ignore the child's enthusiasm, instead he concentrated on wading through the shadows of a house to his latest target. He took great delight in the fact the blackness offered little resistance to him as he pierced the veil of the outside shadow so that he stood no longer outside the home, but now right in the heart of the once safe haven.

Iago looped around the neighborhood a few times, giving himself some time to plan, until he saw Pitch emerge outside once more with a satisfied smirk across his face, landing in the form of a silvery grey wolf.

"Isn't that…painful?" Pitch spoke softly, the shade concerned slightly that the child was hurting because of the things he was asking him to do.

The wolf shook its small head, ' _No sir. shape shifting, as uncomfortable and awkward as it looks, is really easy and painless. It's a simple procedure, I simply form the creature I want to become in my mind and my body follows suite._ '

"Oh…" the shade glanced at the wolf now padding up to the back door, "So child what's the plan?"

Iago glanced back at the Nightmare King, knowing the likely reaction of his next words, thus making sure to keep a bit of distance between them. He dipped his muzzle staring at the holy ground beneath his idol's feet.

' _Now, we wake them up._ ' Iago declared, proud that he hadn't fumbled over his words. Yes, he was frightened, but Iago posed his fright as excitement within Pitch's mind, hiding the unwanted fear from his idol.

"What!?" Pitch hissed. "I just developed a beautiful nightmare in there, the stage is set and everything, and you want me to WAKE THEM UP!?"

' _On three?_ ' Iago continued, as if Pitch's yelling wasn't making him terrified.

Pitch grumbled again, but none the less nodded.

' _One... two..._ ' Iago trotted up to the door, flexing his paws.

' _Three._ '

A scream cut through the peaceful night air from an open window as the nightmare became too intense for the sleeping woman, shortly followed by a masculine combination of a snort and a yelp.

Pitch drank in the invisible fear, sighing in relief.

Iago cocked his head. With the wolf's ears, he could hear the couple whispering to one another in French.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?***" a deep male voice whispered.

"Juste un cauchemar." The female replied softly.

Iago had no idea what they were saying, but from Pitch's sudden scowl, it was probably dismissive.

"Just a nightmare? I worked hard on that!" the shade snapped indignantly crossing his arms, "Absolutely no respect..."

"Il y avait des loups ..."

Iago recognized "loups". A nymph his master had bought from France had taught him that word. She had taken the condensation on the iron bars and drawn a wolf on the stone walls. Iago took that as his cue.

Rearing up on his hind legs, he dragged the dull claws down the back door's screen, leaving rivots in the mesh as he repeatedly dragged his paws down the door.

Pitch, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, suddenly lurched forward, his eyes flashing open as the woman screamed even louder than before.

"Il était réel ! Faire quelque chose!" The woman cried.

Iago scratched at the baseboard for a moment.

Pitch doubled over as the woman began sobbing.

"Tuez-le , lui faire peur , fais quelque chose!" The man grunted as he fumbled around within the house. He was awfully close to the door, so Iago took that as his cue to run for the hills- literally. He paused on the outskirts of the tall, dry grass until he heard the door open with a **_BANG!_** , leaping into the blades and causing as much ruckus as possible.

 ** _KA-POW_**! A gunshot echoed across the vast countryside! Iago ran even faster, suddenly afraid for his furry behind. He had reached the peak of the hill when yet another **_KA-POW_**! blew dirt into the air a few feet away. That had been close! Too close!

Finally, Iago cleared the hill and fled out of range, flopping down in wispy grass and suddenly relishing the dirt beneath his paws. ' _That was a good fright!_ ' He thought to himself, before leaping to his paws mid pant.

Fright!

Pitch! Pitch would be worried sick! With a bound, he leapt into his owl form, swiftly and silently taking to the skies.

His wings carried him over the farm lands, and Iago had a chance to observe the powers of adrenaline as he took in the distance he had fled. It was still easier to travel back as a swift bird than grounded wolf. Taking another form was like donning different clothes for different works. Only, for the elder shifters, those clothes had to be stolen. Being a Moon chosen spirit, Iago was allowed to shift into any creature he could picture, no soul required.

He alighted on a shovel leaned against the home a few feet away from Pitch, who was still staring at the hill he had disappeared over. Evidently, the husband had gone back inside to calm his wife, but the gunshot now had this village awake. And afraid.

' _Well?_ ' The young shape-shifter hooted, cocking his head.

Pitch slowly turned to the boy, his golden gaze revived, if only slightly. A dumbfounded expression was currently taking residence on the ash grey face.

' _How do you feel?_ '

"How... do I... feel?" Pitch repeated slowly, as if the words were a complex algebra problem with four different variables to solve for. "How. Do. I feel?" Suddenly the shade laughed, a deep, rolling, baritone sound that echoed in the sweeping hills of the elegant countryside. "This feels amazing! I haven't felt this power of fear since the Guardian Wars!"

Several men exited their homes and approached the one behind the two spirits. The worried murmur of men mingled with the soft soothing of the mothers and the curious chirp of children.

"Loups." The word fluttered around like a dry dead leaf, alighting itself on one house and the next. "Loups." They whispered. "Loups!" They squeaked. "Loups?" They gasped. The animal of survival arose from its slumber in each man's soul, fear pricking their ears and widening their eyes, curling their fingers around their safety and one another.

Pitch sighed in content, arousing Iago from his thoughts.

"So much fear. And such a rational one too! I'm sure there are wolves around here somewhere!" Suddenly, Pitch paused with his arms wide in emphasis, staring at the small owl who shuffled under his contemplating gaze.

"They're still afraid."

Iago slowly nodded, not really sure where he was going with that.

"They're going to fear for a while."

Again, the shape-shifter nodded, still perplexed.

"The women will create nightmares on their own. The men will grow anxious and defensive. The children will stay indoors at night and fear the woods. And tomorrow, we can return to confirm their fears."

Iago leapt off the shovel and returned to his human state, crossing his arms behind him and staring at his feet, both proud and embarrassed under his idol's praise.

"You are one clever spirit."

Iago beamed, shuffling in excitement.

"Perhaps this little alliance isn't such a bad idea."

The boy's head snapped to attention, looking Pitch straight in his proud gaze, and basked in his praise and respect.

Pitch smiled slightly, gesturing west with a wide sweeping motion of his arm that encompassed the setting moon and the entire horizon along with it.

((Footnotes:

*Aristarchus of Samos- First presented the notion of Heliocentrism, or the Earth orbiting the Sun.

** Eratosthenes- First discovery of the round surface of the Earth around 240 BC

***Theoretically, the French in this should translate into things along these lines, not in exact words, but these general sentences. For native French speakers out there, I'm terribly sorry if I butchered that, I tried my best.

"What is wrong?"

"Just a nightmare... It was about wolves..."

"It was real! Do something!"

"Kill him, scare him, do something!"

AN: I find it fitting that the French word for wolf, loups, resembles the English word lopes, which is an accurate description of a wolf's running gait.))


	19. Chapter 19

You guys are awesome, you know that? You just are. Thanks for reading, do me a favor and review!

* * *

Pitch was feeling _FANTASTIC_.

The two of them had spent a few weeks traveling across the world, spurred on by the child's excessive need to see his idol work... and who was Pitch to deny the boy such a simple joy. Not to mention the shade could feel his power emerging again, stronger by the day. And to top it all off they had even managed to avoid the Guardians, no even better, they had completely FOOLED the Guardians.

To Pitch's utter delight it turned out that being the Spirit of Deception, Iago could cast mirages and shroud things- and people- from others. Thus, the boy had cast a few images of Pitch himself across the globe, throwing the Guardians off their trail. A tooth filled smirk came to the spirit's face, oh how he wished he could see their faces…the fools were chasing their own tails!

So while the Nightmare King thrived in Burgess, he was being searched for in Moscow.

Pitch inhaled the simple air of the small town that had once been the backdrop of his defeat, oh how he wanted nothing more than the bathe the whole place in shadows and nightmares…Golden eyes blazed suddenly at the thought... speaking of nightmares he needed to return his attention back to the child assisting him on such a mission.

As of right now, Iago was across town, creeping as a rat through the attic of a musophobic* woman.

It would only be a matter of time before a surge of energy would be twining through the fabric of his being. Until then Pitch scanned the houses for the main reason he had specifically returned to the town of his downfall. It was all because of the child that had single handedly destroyed his well laid plans… Jamie Bennett

The boy was such a curiosity such odd, exotic fears.

Fear of losing belief. Typical. But fear of betrayal? Strange... Fear of becoming old? Not something children typically focus on. Such interesting, yet taunting fears. It was tempting…so much fear to prey on and such a beautiful and poetic bit of justice to gain power from the one that took it from him.

However, Pitch was not a fool, no, far from it. The shade knew it would be suicide to work from the fears of the child. So much as a hint of a nightmare, and the Guardians would come running. No...he would not dare…or would he?

The wheels began turning within his mind, "Perhaps…" Pitch cocked his head, pondering the thought that had just risen. The shade broke into a thoughtfully cocky smile. "If I just barely taint his conscious, he won't remember a thing!" Now thoroughly convinced, the shade marched through the nearby shadow of a building into Jamie's room.

"Do you remember me, boy?" A hateful hiss accompanied Pitch's normally collected tone, his shadow creeping around the room's edge to the sleeping child.

Jamie had grown, sure, but there was no mistaking the little fiend.

"Do you remember my downfall? Do you remember watching me as I fell to my knees and begged for mercy!? Do you remember how you laughed and cheered as I was swallowed by my subjects!?"

Suddenly Pitch snapped from his rant noticing his steadily increasing volume. He forced a deep breath to fill his lungs and leave his nose, relaxing his clenched jaw and hands. Pitch forced himself to perceive this as impersonal- it was just another child. Okay, he would never believe that, but at the very least Pitch could pretend he could!

"Let's see if we can merge these fears..." With an obedient sizzle, a sparkling nightmare leapt from Pitch's palm, giving a celebratory prance around the room before attacking the stream of dream sand illuminating its master's scowl.

The room darkened as the light was snuffed.

The tar black sand formed fuzzy images above the sleeping teen. Come morning, Jamie would not recall the nightmare or of ever having one, but his fear in the here and now would be SO delectable...

Pitch watched with cruel delight at the image now forming and twisting into being, the shade feeling certain the nightmare would be horrific…

An elderly man lay in a hospital bed, staring in horror at a Jack Frost who perched on the footboard like a vulture with a demonic smile across his childish face, sending ice to creep across the sheets and sap the life from him. Ninety something Jamie Bennett, with tears of betrayal streaming from his eyes, watched Jack disappear and his belief die.

Jamie whimpered and thrashed and squirmed in the bed sheets, and Pitch was loving every minute of the boy's terror. It was exhilarating! It was stunning! It was…intoxicating!

Sparks of shadows began to dance around the shade as Pitch literally grew drunk with fear that was as delectable as red wine-

"Whoa!"

Pitch whirled in surprise at the voice from the window, where an awestruck, wide eyed child perched in the sill.

"Combining multiple fears into one nightmare! You're so clever, Mister Black!"

Pitch chuckled, shaking his head, as the boy leapt to the bedside and peered at the-

Fully developed nightmare!

"No!" Pitch let loose a curse beneath the word when he caught sight of the once fuzzy image

The edges were now crisp and clean, the nightmare taking on its own form. Jamie Bennett would remember this nightmare when he woke.

Pitch cursed again, he must have lost focus and thus had dropped his control of the nightmare. No... he would not have lost control that easily…it had to have been…Golden eyes widened in anger when it hit him- Iago had distracted him!

"BOY!" The Boogeyman rounded on the shape-shifter, who instantly cowered at his feet. His golden eyes seethed in frustration and impatience. "Do you realize what you've done!?"

Pitch was cut off as Jamie suddenly bolted upright in the bed. The two spirits froze as his gaze swept through one and landed on the other.

"Pitch!?" Jamie yelped, instantly leaping across the mattress to a nightstand- with a snow globe on its plastic surface!

The shade grasped the back of the shifter's cloak, who squeaked in fear and surprise, as he dove for the shadows. Pitch felt a sharp stab on his heels where Jamie must have turned the light on, right as they emerged across the street. He dragged the young spirit around to face him.

"Iago! That boy was the STRONGEST BELIEVER of the Guardians!"

Iago's mercury eyes widened and the boy crouched lower.

Pitch however didn't notice the boy's fear; he was on a roll now. "He is calling the Guardians AS WE SPEAK! We have to-"

"Come out, ya bloody shadow rat!" a heavy Australian accent thundered down the quiet streets.

Pitch froze, scanning the area for grey blurs. He didn't fail to notice the confused look Iago gave him as he did so.

"Dammit Iago, run!" Pitch hissed, hauling the boy after him in the same death grip on his robe as before. He scrambled down the alleyway, diving from a shadow and leaping though to another alley. From one to the next, an exhausting get away effort.

An exhausting, straining, humiliating effort.

The great Boogeyman, running from an oversized rodent, a drunkard, a vengeful hummingbird, a golden glitter ball, and a teenage boy with separation anxiety. Simply embarrassing.

Pitch ran, not out of fear, but anger. He had quite enjoyed these past few weeks, preforming his duty without interference.

One slip-up. Just one mistake. He should have left personal business out of his work.

The shade knew he was being rough with the shape-shifter; after all, the child had just been the excited little boy as he was supposed to be. Well, as normal as becoming excited over a nightmare could get you, anyways. At any rate, Iago didn't deserve his anger. It wasn't even directed at him. Pitch would apologize. Once they were safe.

Suddenly, a cool air buffeted his face, and a damp, musty scent filled his nostrils.

His lair. He had brought them to the dark caves of his lair. Above him, the metal cages dangled like silent sentries, their bars glistening with condensation. The mighty columns of stone soared into the dark recesses of the stone roof, and the crisscrossing bridges across the mighty chasm were-

Completely covered in Nightmares.

Thousands of them were flying in every which way around the place, their screeching neighs echoing and reverberating through the air. One by one, the long snouts stopped their braying and the dinner plate sized hooves stopped their stamping, and every horse turned to face the newest arrivals. Their blank yellow eyes bore holes behind his temples, but right now, Pitch wasn't scared.

In fact, he was pissed.

"What the hell are you all looking at!?" He roared, shaking a fist and baring his teeth.

Half of the horses dissipated into dust, the other half stampeding away. The sand piles that remained slunk in rivers to their king, filling his body with strength and refound energy.

Oh yes, next time, he would not be running.

"See, child, that's how it's done." Pitch chuckled, glancing down to his clenched fist- and the limp cloak in its grasp.

"Iago!" The shade yelped, lifting the garment to his face and staring dumbfounded at its emptiness. "Come on out. It's alright..." he quietly urged, hoping there was perhaps a ferret or mongoose in one of the numerous pockets. But no, the shifter had wiggled out. The spirit placed a cool hand to his temple and sighed in exasperation and worry.

What if the Guardians got him? Pitch had gathered that Iago could not control his shifting when he was frightened. Thus, they wouldn't see a boy, but rather a monster, and being the ignorant, assumptive beings they were, they would just-

"Wait a minute!" Pitch cried out as he recalled an important note. Iago didn't believe in the Guardians. Sure, he was a spirit, but spirit children still had to believe in essence. Since Iago did not, they would phase right through him...

In short, the Guardians couldn't lay a finger on the child. Not with hands, not with words, not with weapons.

So, if the child hadn't understood the presence of danger... why had he run?

It struck Pitch with a gust of air that Iago had run out of fear of _him_.

Silence stretched through the caves save for the lost whiney of horses in the distance as the Boogeyman, for the first time in his afterlife, mourned the fear of a child.

With a decisive snort, the shade rolled his shoulders back and shook his head, trying to rid himself of such unnecessary emotion.

"Finally." Pitch demanded the syllables out between his teeth, forcing himself to believe what he knew he had to say. "The child has learned some common sense."

With a stoic expression, he thrust the fist clenching the brownish-grey fabric over the edge of the walkway. The garment flittered and fluttered and twisted around Pitch's outstretched hand. A finger lifted, then one, then another- until he paused, the fabric pinched between his fore finger and thumb.

His expression softened, his mind wandering... he let it fall, twisting and turning, almost dancing as it fell down, down, down... before landing on a shadowy outcrop not ten feet below.

Pitch sighed, rolling his eyes, and reached though his shadow on the wall. As he retracted the damn thing, a faint, sad smile danced on his face before he folded the cloak, draping it neatly across his arm, and disappeared through a shadow.

* * *

Iago was terrified.

Pitch had yanked him along, dragging him across the rough ground. Pitch must have been furious with him, since he had yelled and hauled him along like a dog. Pitch would be even more so with him now, since, terrified of a repeat with his former master's punishment, Iago had gathered up his focus and melted into his ferret form, ducking out from the cloak and scurrying away.

That had been a mere five minutes ago, and already he was regretting his choice. Now, with Pitch gone, Iago felt calmer and more collected. He could think now.

And right now, he was thinking he should have stayed with Pitch.

It was stupid to think that Pitch would be mad at him. Pitch had more likely been mildly scared, frustrated perhaps. It had been foolish to run.

Yet...

Iago _had_ startled him, thus making the Nightmare King lose focus. It was _his_ fault the Guardians were lurking about nearby. Pitch could very well be angry.

So, in the event that Pitch WAS angry, Iago found himself hesitant to find Pitch once more. Iago knew he was probably being silly, but... if he wasn't...

No. Iago wouldn't, couldn't risk it. If Pitch wanted him back, the shade would come and find him. Which wouldn't be hard, since he was human, perched in a tree, and sobbing in fear.

The Guardians were close! Every snapping branch sounded like a giant ambling towards him, every gust of wind was sharp and icy, every shuffling noise was a mutant rodent creeping up on him. Everything sounded like anything here, and Iago was longing for the safety and comfort of Pitch's presence, his tall, proud form and his elegant, brave British accent.

Iago had dreamed of being Pitch's right hand man, of being the bestest of help Pitch had ever had, to be, maybe even, Pitch's friend.

But he had messed up his chances before he had ever truly begun.

Now, Pitch probably didn't even want him around…let alone to be his friend.

And so, with Pitch far and the Guardians close, Iago allowed himself a minute to cry. He curled up on the branch, shaking his head.

He knew better than to cry for too long, but apparently he had done so anyways, for someone found him before Pitch.

"Aw, are you lost?""

* * *

Footnotes:

*musophobic- fear of rodents, especially mice and rats ((heh heh RICE MATS.))

* * *

}=) That is my only comment over the cliffy. Have fun!


	20. Chapter 20

I'm... I'm really tired ht giving you guys excuses, really. But, for real this time, the tablet I usually updated from broke and I didn't have the means to continue up until now. I really am sorry... Thanks for sticking with the story, despite the irregular updates.

* * *

"Are you lost too?"

A meek, feminine voice called from above. Iago yelped in surprise, almost falling off his branch. When he was steady once more, he slowly stood, scanning above him for the source of the voice.

 _There!_ A flicker of blue fabric and a glimmer of green eyes.

 _Thump._ The figure daintily landed before him, and in surprise he fell backwards against the tree, breathing hard.

"I'm sorry!" The girl cried. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Before him, a girl about eight or nine, roundabout his age, stood with her arms clasped behind her. Her midnight blue dress fluttered around her ankles and bare feet. The sleeves rustled as she rocked back and forth, the wide cuff swallowing her tiny dreamer hands. A golden trim lined the cuffs and hem, and a faint green swirling design shimmered in the moonlight.

As Iago's bravery grew, he looked up towards her pale, freckled face. Her nose was soft and round, her lips full and her teeth pearly white. Her dark green eyes seemed to fade from green to gold to blue tints. Her luscious black hair hung in waves to her hips and framed her face, a few unruly locks dancing across her forehead.

She smiled meekly, tilting her head.

"Are you lost too?" Iago was about to shake his head, but a thought wormed its way into his unwilling mind.

He was alone and purposeless, with no place to return to and no one to turn to. He didn't belong anywhere anymore. Was that not the very definition of lost?

He nodded.

"Me too." She sighed, crouching down on the branch. "Me and Daddy were flying around here, but some stupid lost snowstorm knocked me down." She huffed.

Iago cocked his head questioningly.

"Well I didn't _want_ to come to the United States! But Daddy said I was being un-un-great-full... I think that's the word." She put a finger to her chin contemplatively, before shaking her head. "Anyways, Daddy made me come all because I don't like pig blood!"

Iago startled, his eyes widening to the eyes of saucers. What kind of dad did she have, getting on to her for not liking pig blood? Who _did_?

"Daddy said the blood was really gross here, and boy was he right!" She scrunched her face up in disgust.

Iago was shocked, to say the least. His eyes couldn't get any bigger and he was slack-jawed in horror.

"It's yucky and sticky and-" Suddenly the girl noticed the expression Iago now bore.

"Oh I'm sorry! I forgot to in-tro-duce my self. I think that's the word... Daddy says first impressions should be best impressions!" She stood and walked over to the crouching shape-shifter, holding out her hand.

"I'm Eva Dracula!" She exclaimed happily, and as if to prove her point she thumped her sternum with her other hand. "I'm Vladimir Dracula's fifth child! Do you know my Daddy?" She perked.

Understanding dawned on Iago, and he nodded slowly, shaking her hand timidly. Her head flopped the other way, her hair following suit.

"Ya don't talk much." Iago retracted his hand, avoiding her gaze. "Hey." She tried, much softer than before, crouching down to his level. It made her seem much calmer and Iago relaxed enough to look at her. "It's okay. I don't bite. Well, I do, but not people." She rolled her eyes. "Steering types."

Iago blinked in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned on him, resulting in a quiet chuckle.

"Stereotypes." He whispered gently, earning a clapping of hands.

"Oh goodie! You _do_ talk!" She giggled, a sound like crystal chimes. Then she grew sad. "Do you know where Europe is? Daddy says go straight home if I get lost."

Iago paused a moment, thinking. He knew that if she flew away from the moon she would get to Europe eventually. That was easy. So he nodded slowly.

"You do!?" She instantly perked up. "Can you take me there?"

Whoa, wait, what? Go back to Europe? By himself? With no one to protect him? What if Ignorance...

Wasn't Eva in the same position? Vampires weren't well liked by many spirits due to said "steering types". Ignorance had lost his last vampire in a bet shortly before Iago had fled. He would be hunting for her too! Was he going to let her go through what he had!?

Iago stood to his full height, about two inches taller than her, and nodded vigorously.

"Yay! But wait." She suddenly drooped. "I can't fly that far. Daddy could carry me on his back, but you'd be too small a bat." Here, Iago shook his head, smiling slightly.

He leapt into the air, letting his body shrink. His legs all but disappeared, and his fingers and arms flattened into wings. After less than a second, a small silver bat swooped low over Eva.

"Ooh! You're a pretty color!" She giggled.

Iago swooped low again, beckoning for her to come. With a shrug, she leapt after him. Her transformation wasn't as smooth as his, and she fell a good foot before she was done.

"Okay, boy!" She chirped. "Let's go!" Iago turned his nose to the coast and led the way.

Eva grew quiet as they flew for almost an hour before they reached the coast.

"Now what are you going to do?" Eva piped, panting, over the sound of the surf. She was young, and this was hard for small bat bodies. Even Iago was tired. But she was almost done- he was going to make this easier on both of them.

He flew over the water, with Eva calling after him.

"Hey, wait! I can't fly that far! Wait! Stop!" Yet she followed him off solid ground until the coast was a lump on the horizon. Feeling relatively safe, Iago slid his bat body under her.

"Hey! What's the plan?" She cried. He simply gestured to his back with a jerk of his head. "You want me to ride you?" He nodded. "Are you sure?"

In response, Iago flapped a little closer to her.

"Okay... Here it goes." As she stopped flapping, Iago brought his wyvern form forth. She landed right between his massive shoulders.

"Wait! What!?" Eva cried, her human form returning in surprise. "Iago, where are you!?" From his few short weeks with Pitch, he had learned how to detect fear in a voice, and he could tell he was feeding the Nightmare King.

He snorted, shaking his scaled head. She whirled around, her green eyes wild.

"Iago?" She cried, and he nodded hastily. "Wait...Is _this_ you?" He nodded again.

Silence stretched between them for a few minutes, only interrupted by the steady _fwoom_ of his wing beats.

"No way!" Eva suddenly squeaked, running the length of his spine to the base of his skull.

"WOW how did you do that!? I didn't know vampires could do that!" Iago chuckled, his body shaking, and he shook his head again.

"No? You're _not_ a vampire?" He shook his head.

"Were-something?" Nope. "Anime-Gus?" She tried, to which Iago snorted. "Can you tell me!? Pretty please?" Iago shook his head once more. She huffed. "Alright..."

She dropped the subject and moved on. They talked, sort of. Mostly, she talked and he listened attentively, adding a snort or a chuckle.

She talked about her life as Vladimir's daughter- "I mean, who even curtsies even more?"- about her three brothers- "The younger two are alright, but the youngest of them- that's Sanguinem*- is awful!"- and about her oldest sister-"Luna** is so pretty! I wish I was more like her."

But, actually, the trip was mostly silent, only interrupted by the _fwoom_ of his wing beats and the crashing of the waves.

"Do you have any siblings?" Eva asked at one point, to which he shook his head. "A Mama?" Twice. "A Papa?" Thrice. She was quiet a while before she spoke softly: "Why are you all alone?"

Iago contained a shudder. He couldn't remember his past life. He didn't know if he ever had a family. Being a spirit of the Moon, he had no memory of his life before the peaceful shape shifting. But he knew from the folklore that many had died by the Fire Nymphs. He had always assumed that was what had happened to him.

In response, he shot a fire bolt to the side, steam rising where it landed in the ceaseless waves.

"A fire?" Iago nodded. Close enough. "Oh... I'm sorry." He shrugged mid-glide, turning it into a slow down flap. They sunk into silence once more.

Another time brought up something unexpected.

"You're different than all the other boys I've met. In a good way." Iago cocked his head questioningly. "Well, boys are really loud. And you should _never_ trust something a ten year old boy gives you. But you're not like them." There was silence as Iago thought about this. "I wish more boys were like you."

* * *

"Hey, I recognize this place!" Eva suddenly cried, pointing over Iago's skull to a large port city on the approaching coast. She leapt off his back and Iago followed her little bat body with her own.

He alighted on a sign above a store reading Flourish and Blotts, watching as she fluttered down the street, checking landmarks and the sky above for a clue. Suddenly she returned, landing on the ground beneath him.

Her human face peered up at him with relief and gratitude.

"I can get home from here!" She beamed, so Iago flapped down to the ground, landing on his bare feet. He smiled at her, feeling happy for her, and, at the same time, slightly envious.

She had a place to call home. Someone to return to. He had no place, no one, and now he was about to be alone again.

Hiding his desperation, the gestured for her to lead the way, hoping to prolong the departure.

"Oh... I'm sorry..." Her gaze fell to the ground, shuffling her feet and clasping her hands behind her. "Daddy says not to tell anyone where our home is..." She glanced either way down the street, before leading forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Poppy Yahtzees."

Iago deflated, his gaze sad, and smiled slightly.

"Paparazzi." She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"Whatever." She sighed before shaking her head. "But I'll ask Daddy if you can visit. I'll tell him how you helped me and sweet and kind you are and he'll _have_ to let you visit! I just know he will!"

Iago smiled sadly. Nobody wanted a shape shifter nearby. Suddenly a throb of fear struck him. If Vladimir learned about his existence, he would _surely_ tell Ignorance. That couldn't happen!

He shook his head vigorously, his gaze serious.

"No?" Eva cocked her head, her face falling. "You don't want me to tell Daddy?" He nodded before leaping into his bat form, landing on her shoulder.

' _Can't you speak bat?_ ' He chirped, to which she giggled.

"Uh, _yeah!_ All vampires do."

' _Then a bat pointed you home.'_

 _"_ And the ocean?" She pouted, and he shrugged.

' _A boat.'_ Eva stared, to which Iago squirmed under.

"You must lie alot. You're really fast." She accused slowly. He shrugged his tiny shoulders again, staring down the street.

' _For safety.'_ Her features softened. Meanwhile, he leapt off her shoulder and landed human before her.

They stood a minute, relishing the company of each other.

"Can I have your name at least?" She begged softly.

Hmm... Was that safe? Was that a good idea? He hesitated, but his tongue ran off without him.

"Iago." He whispered, staring at his toes.

"E-ah-Go." She repeated, nodding. Her face lit up with a smile and she lunged forward, hugging him.

"Come visit here, then! Please?" After a moment of confusion and brief fear, Iago returned the embrace and slowly nodded. Why not? It was nice to have a friend.

"Yay!" She squeaked, squeezing him gently before letting go.

"Goodbye Iago!" She laughed, leaping into the air with a graceful bound. "And thank you!"

Iago followed her with his eyes until he couldn't see her tiny bat form any longer, with his hands in his pockets and his head cocked. A gentle smile slowly appeared on his young face.

He felt... Peaceful. At ease. Satisfied with himself.

Until his body was swallowed by a surge of fear stronger than the fiercest tempest by the voice that arose from the shadows behind him.

"Not visit soon, little monster-boy."

* * *

*Sanguinem- Latin for blood

**Luna- Latin for Moon

* * *

Hahaha! Now here is the REAL cliff hanger. You only THOUGHT last chapter was the bad one! Things are about to get feelz REAL soon. Until then, TTFN, Ta Ta For Now!


	21. Chapter 21

I... I've got nothing. Nope. No excuses, no reason, this chapter is just exceptionally late. My apologies. But it's about twice as long as the rest, so... Does that help? Lemme know in the reviews! Tell your friends about this fanfic too! Please?

* * *

Pitch stood on the Atlantic coast of the United States, staring out into the ocean. His nightmares were tamed enough that they could do their job without supervision, and so he used that time to...

A sigh left the shade- What was he even doing out here? Pitch exhaled as his intention resurfaced. Right, he had come to take his mind off of Iago, and the fear that he had sensed from the shifter. How well was that working out for him, again?

Golden eyes gleamed suddenly, Pitch lashing his hand to the side in anger. After all these centuries of not caring for a single soul but his own why now was he making himself miserable worrying for some child?

However, as the dark night roiled overhead Pitch couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to the child.  
Pitch could not help but wonder where the young shapeshifter was…most likely the child had fled far from the town, if the boy was as frightened as he had been in the Norwegian village when Pitch had raved.

'Bet he is terrified out there alone…'

Pitch grit his teeth at the stray thought now pulsing in his mind. With a low growl the shade stormed back into town, furious for such petty emotions. Since when had the mighty Nightmare King cared about the welfare of any child? He was the Lord of Fear, for Hades sake! Pitch Black did not concern himself with the safety of children.

The shade continued to try and convince himself of that as he strode down the quaint street, watching his nightmares work vigilantly.

See, that is exactly why he worked best alone…away from others. He could concentrate on invoking beautiful terror, not worry anout stupid children... that were broken ...and needed to be healed…

Ugh! There his brain went again!

A low curse left the shade, he quickly tried thinking of something else. Which, of course, was not hard since Pitch could feel the fears of humans leaking from every nook and cranny, every door and window, like a sickly plague. The waves swelled over him like crashing ocean waves, so intense was the onslaught the shade could almost see the dark aura of the fear now coming to his body.

Pitch was growing powerful once more. Not nearly as powerful as he had once been mind you, but definitely growing closer at a far faster rate than what he had expected. He did not need to concern himself with children...

Yet...

Pitch found himself unnecessarily waking children from their nightmares at random intervals, letting his shadow creep around their rooms, or standing in the dark corners with nothing but his piercing yellow eyes visible. The children cried and wailed and ran to their parents... But where it once had given him great pleasure, just a short while ago... Now it wasn't the same...

Same as what? What was he missing!? For the life of him the spirit couldn't place it…that or he was simply trying to avoid the reason he knew…

So in order to fill the void, Pitch had taken it a step further, doing something he would never have tried a few short weeks ago…allowing his nightmares to penetrate the minds of adults.

He would send his nightmare in with a mission: Find what was on the adult's mind and report it to Pitch at once. Then, he would wander about the house, planning how to immolate that fear in the waking world...

CRASH! Nightmares of burglars? Let's open the door and knock over this table.

Nightmares of fires? Let's set the smoke alarm off.

Nightmares of bats? Let's- oh wait, you actually have a bat infestation. Okay then, let's set them free in your kitchen.

The fears of full grown adults swelled over Pitch in a way that the fear of children never had! Children's fears were most of the time irrational…slime monster in the bathtub, rug bugs that might eat their toes…adults, however, their fears were based in reality so evoking them brought such a level of fear that Pitch could feel himself becoming intoxicated by them…however the shade couldn't bring himself to stop.

Pitch could stand right behind the terrified wife who cowered behind her outraged, defensive husband . He could whisper in her ear, "There he goes, over the fence. Hear the dog? That's him, running down the street. Call the cops, chase him, chase the figment of your imagination." Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, stood in the shadows, glaring out windows to the flashing red and blue lights, enticing the broad, strong police men into an all-night chase of shadows and delusions.  
Pitch Black, Lord of Shadows, brought chaos down on the small coastal towns, leaving confusion and panic in his wake. Darkness and fear followed his footsteps, and Pitch Black the Boogeyman grew stronger.

Yet, even with all the power... Pitch Black did not feel any better.

Shaking his head, Pitch held his temples and sighed. "Maybe some old fashioned nightmares will raise my spirits."

So, with that intention in mind, Pitch strode through a nearby shadow to the nearest child essence he could sense in a near-by apartment, before pausing to take in this odd spectacle.

In a bare room stood two beds. One bed was covered in faded pink sheets and a small, dingy teddy bear sat upon the small, thin purple pillow. This bed was unoccupied. However, across the room stood an identical bed, this one covered in plain white sheets and such. In this bed, a small little girl laid atop the blankets, shivering in her sleep and snuggling a shirt to her tiny chest.

As puzzled by this spectacle as Pitch was, he did not think to question it until he tainted her golden dream.

Her nightmare was one of his own horses, which trotted right up to her and bared its teeth. The girl yelped and backed away, but was trapped against a wall. As the horse approached, it morphed slowly into another person, blurry and unrecognizable, who reached out to her. She cried out in delight, running towards them, only for the person to strike a hand across her face-

Before he was aware of moving Pitch grasped the figure by the throat, threw it at the wall before he knew what he was thinking, where it exploded into a shower of dust before he knew he had acted.

The girl squeaked into waking, startled by the abrupt yank on her conscious.

The two stared at each other, the girl taking him in slowly as the haze of sleep faded from her eyes.

"Boogeyman..." She whispered the name, almost as if tasting it.

Confused under her critical eye, Pitch clasped his hands behind him and narrowed his golden eyes. As she sat up, Pitch approached the bed she rested on, over the tiny child who did not so much as flinch.

"You believe in me?" Pitch raised a brow. He was not surprised, really. He had only been getting better and better as the weeks went on. More and more children had begun to believe in the Nightmare King.

This girl nodded firmly. "You're what stopped me from walking into the road before checking it was safe."

Pitch didn't feel like arguing that her scenario was more in the common sense department.

"And you're why Momma locks all the doors and windows before she goes to bed."

That was more paranoia than him...

"You're a good man."

Pitch felt his chest clench, a knot forming in his stomach. Never before had he felt so confused and tired... A good man? Maybe once, a time ago, before… now his only motive for moving was defeating those blasted Guardians, and defying the Man in Moon.

The shade sighed, for he had often wondered where the man he once had been was, the better one? He had fallen, no matter how many times he rose again. Where was his motive to return? There was none, just the overwhelming desire to destroy what had taken his power from him.

A rumble echoed in his throat- No, that man was gone! Snuffed out by thousands of years of loneliness and heartache! No he would never return… only the Boogeyman would rise again, Master and Player of Fears...

And yet even as he tried to convince himself Pitch was so sure… Hell, he couldn't even stomach the thought of tormenting this girl. Life and Reality would do that to her. Eventually, the ties of innocence would fall off, and that in itself would bring fear.

"I'm sorry, child." He sighed. "I will let you rest easy now." He picked up the girl and put her in the bland bed, covering her tiny body with the threadbare sheets and giving her the shirt she had snuggled into. The little child eagerly accepted the article of clothing and wiggled into a tight ball, drifting off to sleep.

After a long, quiet sigh, Pitch slid through a shadow.

He stared up at the moon for a moment, outside of town. He felt no joy once so ever from the fact that his shadow walking was getting better with each passing day.  
"What is wrong with me?" He whispered. "Why should I wait that long, I don't understand, I just left that perfectly good fear alone!" A fury swept over him, an unstoppable tide of red rage. He felt every muscle tense at once, his teeth grinded together and his eyes clenched shut. The shadows literally sparked as Pitch tried to contain his unexplained anger-

Until Pitch fell to his knees screaming, not in anger, but in pain.

A wave of toxic, nauseating fear swelled over him, crashing into him like a sea bluff. It stole the breath from his lungs and the strength from his limbs. It burned through him like being held under in a tub of acid. His fingers clawed the earth beneath him, searching for stability and physical presence. He was drowning in this intense, powerful fear, that was all too familiar.

As he hissed in pain, nightmare sand erupted from the ash grey palms, lifting under him as the equine formed. It gave one sniff of the air, and instincts did the rest.  
Pitch was in such great pain it was all he could do to hold on. The nightmare, urged forward by her thirst and her master's urgency, launched from the ground and galloped into the sky. They climbed and climbed until they passed over the shore, sailing into the clouds that boosted them with the insane winds.  
Pitch had never gone this fast before, and he found his focus was constantly frozen on not falling off. The waves were naught but a blue black blur beneath him.

Pitch found that the pain in himself was lessening, despite the undeniable knowledge that the fear was doing anything but that. When he opened his eyes, he found them to be clear and focused-

On Sandman's biplane.

"Now of all the times!?" Pitch groaned, urging the equine around the golden contraption, but it was too late. They had been spotted. The sand plane made a quick turn around and began pursuit, but Pitch was angered and desperate, and the nightmare hungry and excited. The distance slowly grew between them, and as the nightmare nimbly twisted and turned through the clouds they were out of sight.

The damage was done, though. If the Guardians didn't know he was up and moving beforehand, they sure did now. But that was Pitch's second priority for the first time since those blasted Guardians had come around.

The journey that should have taken them hours took a mere few minutes in this furious pace, but even then Pitch felt he hadn't made it fast enough. The fear had fed him and filled him with renewed energy, but only now it was much, much worse. This was the fear for someone's life. Pitch let the nightmare follow the scent, the great beast leaping from rooftop to rooftop over a quaint town. As they flew, they enticed every nightmare, every fear, and every shadow to join the chase. They listened to their god's instruction intently- Do not attack. Wait.  
"Hold on, Iago.." Were the only words whispered from the Nightmare King's lips as he and his nightmares raced to where the poor shifter's fear was pouring from.

* * *

The minute Iago had heard the voice of The Spirit of the Catch, a pang of fear had spiked through his soul. However, the shifter wasn't about to let Scanlon know that, since it would only encourage the animalistic spirit...

So instead of showing the terror that now gripped his heart, the boy whirled around and bounced backwards, smiling broadly at the Brothers of the Hunt.

"Olwydd! Scanlon! Orgeto! Hey guys!" Iago nodded at each brother in turn, still smiling, and clasped his hands behind him as if he were greeting good friends. "Man you guys are good; how did you find me so fast?"

The wolf brother stepped forward, his toothy grin proud under the crooked wolf head hood of his vest. "Olwydd out on hunt, smell monster boy instead. So Olwydd howl, say 'better prey', brothers come!" The Spirit of the Chase put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest in pride.

"Though Scanlon saw first!" The bear brother grunted, a snarl across his rough face.

"Olwydd saw with nose." The smaller boy tapped his nose with a smirk on his face. "Better than eye sight."

"Ha! Olwydd agree, he blind!" Orgeto slapped his knee and cackled. Scanlon joined him, laughing in deep chuckles.

"Olwydd find monster boy with _blind luck_!" Scanlon added, to which they laughed even louder, and Olwydd scowled.

Iago however turned to the wolf brother, a smile of praise on his face. "I should have known, nothing gets past your nose, Olwydd." He glanced at the other brother, "And Scanlon, I say, your stalking has greatly improved!" Iago played along, hoping to entice one of their infamous arguments...

Immediately, both mentioned brothers lightened, the wolf's pride returning as he boasted "Monster boy right. Olwydd best tracker in whole Realm!"

Scanlon snorted in response. "So? Any person smell, not any person, not any animal, stalk better than Scanlon!"

Orgeto chuckled. "Scanlon stalk worse than hydra."

Olwydd barked out laughing, holding his sides and doubling over as Scanlon grew furious.

"What say, tiny kit!?" Now Orgeto was mad, the brother straightened his shoulders and glowered at his bear brother.

"Orgeto say hydra stalk better than Scanlon!"

And with that statement the skins that hung like cloaks on their backs melted on their owners, a bear and cougar now clawing and biting and roaring at each other. Meanwhile, the wolf brother was simply rolling on the ground, laughing hysterically at the fact that his brothers were at each other's throats.

So it was just a case of bad luck that the wolf brother glanced up when he did and not two seconds later, for if he had looked then the boy would be gone. But as luck would have it, the Spirit of the Chase noticed a barely formed dog running down the street.

"HEY! HEYHEYHEY!" Olwydd shouted desperately, his brothers pausing mid bite to stare in bewilderment. "MONSTER BOY GETTING AWAY!"  
As one the trio lunged after the shapeshifter.

" _Not far!_ " The mountain lion yowled to his brothers. " _Oregto faster, cut off monster boy!_ " And the feline surged forward, leaving the two others behind.

The wolf nodded, yipping " _Olwydd lead Scanlon, track scent!_ "

" _Scanlon have own nose, track scent._ " The bear grumbled as it galloped after the trotting canine.

Iago, meanwhile, was trying his hardest to keep his canine shape still as fear flooded his veins in the very adrenaline that was saving him. The black sheepdog sped around a corner, dashing through a narrow alley. He purposely splashed in every puddle, hoping it was enough to throw off his scent, but it was no use. Scanlon the bear had spotted him already, and was gaining on him. Iago bounded across the next street to another alley a little ways down, but just before he turned into it, the unmistakable mountain lion rounded the corner on the other side.

Yelping, the black dog turned sharply away from the daunting tunnel of brick and concrete, and back to the road.

Further down, the slender form of the wolf appeared around the block and began dashing towards him.

With only one alley left to turn in, Iago fled down the passage, glancing over his shoulder to see the three brothers charging after him. To his surprise they began slowing down!...Maybe their squabble earlier had injured them in some way…

Iago turned around to lope even faster, but ended up skidding across the ground to a wrenching halt. His mind could not fathom what stood before him, for it was by far the most terrible thing Iago had seen in his entire afterlife, perhaps because it was so unexpected at such a time of hope.

Iago could not contain his fear any longer, and his body shuddered from shape to shape as terror took over. Iago was in shock. How could this happen to him!? After his first taste of life, only to have it wrenched away... Iago could not remove his gaze from the thing that had single handedly stole his hope, his freedom, and quite possibly his life- a cold, empty, sharp, imposing... Brick wall.

Iago shook violently… he was trapped.

Cold chuckles and cackles echoed down the brick alley, the shadows of the brothers merging together to cast the boy in darkness. The breath sliced at his lungs, and he slowly turned to his captors. 'Quick, something big and, and impressive and, and, and...' Iago couldn't focus, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The world was turned against him, beating him down, crushing him, imprisoning him in a torture of hate and hurt.

The three brothers had re-humanized, and were striding towards him like a trio of hyenas. Scanlon reached into a pouch on his belt and retrieved-

Shackles. Those were shackles. And that was a...a collar. A brand new, gleaming collar.

"Just for monster boy." Scanlon grinned, shaking the collar back and forth before him.

"P-please..." Iago trembled, crouching against the wall with his hands... Paws... Wings... Over his ears. "Not like this..."

* * *

A trace of Pitch's own fear mingled with the nauseating swells of Iago's as the shapeshifter's terror came to a sudden halt. The nightmare beneath Pitch slowed to a stop atop a roof, her nose swinging back and forth as she tasted the air for their quarry.

Cold, cruel laughter drifted to Pitch's ear, the horse and the spirit snapping their gazes in the direction of the voices.

Taking a breath, the shade spurred his steed forward, the equine leaping across the street to another store roof. Dismounting, Pitch crept to the far edge of the building and glanced over the side. What he saw beneath him made his blood boil.

A huge man with a bear skin over his broad shoulders held a captive Iago by the back of his shirt, since the child had abandoned his cloak in escaping a non-angry Pitch.

In front of him, a scrawny man in a wolf pelt locked cuffs over the boy's wrists, and off to one side another man in a cougar hide watched in mild amusement.  
Iago, meanwhile, thrashed wildly in attempt to escape, kicking the wolf boy in the stomach with shackled legs. Though it clearly did not hurt the captor, Iago still found himself back handed, his head snapping to one side.

"Hold still, tiny monster boy!" The wolf brother growled, to which the others chuckled coldly.

"Have issues, Olwydd?" The cougar boy purred.

Pitch narrowed his eyes at the name…Olwydd…he knew that name…

"No, Orgeto!" The wolf brother-Olwydd- snarled. "Fine. Prey weak, small. No hurt Olwydd."

A gasp left the shade at the other boy's name…now he was sure he knew the two spirits below…and if the other was who he thought, then it was no wonder Iago was drowning in fear.

"Then why hurt monster boy? Master say chase, catch, no kill." The bear grumbled.

"One swipe not hurt monster boy, Scanlon. Olwydd only scare."

Pitch bit the inside of his lip, why in the gods did it have to be these three?

Olwydd, Scanlon, and Orgeto were legend for two things and two things only: Disappearing, and causing disappearances. They had once roamed free and hunted in celebration of the moon cycles and the changing seasons. But early on in their existence, they had vanished from the Spirit Realm. Simply gone, without a trace, and now Pitch knew why- They had been enslaved, just as Iago had been, and had forgotten their initial purpose, just as...

Pitch didn't like the sudden similarities he began to see, shaking them off like-

"No! Nonono NO!"

A sudden cry from Iago suddenly caused such a surge of fear to erupt that Pitch had to stifle a cry of pain.

"Not again, n-n-not like this! Olwydd, p-p-pah-please!" the small shifter was Iago thrashing and kicking wildly as the Spirit of the Chase approached him- with a collar.

Before Pitch even knew what he was seeing, black sand had begun to pour from his palms, sliding down the wall like water with a soft hissing sound.

"Stay, monster boy! Why make hard!?" The wolf was growling, trying to deflect the punches and kicks. The other brothers, meanwhile, had noticed the noise, but not it's creator.

Iago was, well... Panicking.

"Olwydd..." The cougar boy hissed, glancing down the alley to the street, eyes full of worry. However, his brother didn't hear him. "Olwydd!" He tried again, his hackles rising, but still no response. He turned to Scanlon who nodded once.

"OLWYDD!" He roared, giving the canine such a scare that he toppled backwards. The grounded brother was about to shout back when Scanlon put a finger to his lips. "Listen. What noise?"

Snarling, the wolf hood cocked as Olwydd obeyed.

"Sound like noisy nope rope.*" Orgeto pondered, to which Olwydd snorted.

"Bah, too loud for noisy nope rope."

By now the sand had begun to pile up at the bottom of the walls, and the yellow eyes of nightmares began to light up like lost lanterns.

"Looksies!" Scanlon whimpered, pointing with his free hand to a cluster.

Everyone, Iago included turned to look at the nightmares as they rose from the sand, massive stallions that stamped their huge hooves and tossed their long heads. They whinnied shrilly and pawed the ground with impatience, baring their teeth and rearing with excitement.

Everyone was frozen in some fashion.

Pitch had frozen to his spot in rage, a deep, churning, seething rage that he had not known he could possess.

Iago was frozen in shock and surprise, disbelief and relief in his gaze as he gawked at the approaching beasts with awe.

The Hunt Brothers, however, were frozen in fear. The coldest of fears, the ones you least expected, where your blood seemed to freeze and your heart a chunk of useless, heavy ice.

Orgeto snapped out of it first in one word: "RUN!"

The three Skin-Shifters bounded towards the road as one, with Iago still clasped tightly in the bear's hands, breaking Pitch out of his trance. Before Pitch could think he had acted, and with a wave of his arm the sand swept in front of them, solidifying as it landed into more nightmares.  
The trio yelped, sliding to a stop.

Desperation turned The Lord of Fear's blood from icy rage to a fiery fury, and he marched through the shadows down to the alley. Summoning his largest, most imposing horse under him, Pitch brought out his brand new scythe and brandished it wildly.

The air sung with the swipe of the massive blade, the entire weapon somehow emitting a dark light. At the first note of air over steel, the Hunt Brothers rounded on their heels to behold the most furious Nightmare King that had ever been witnessed. The nightmares pranced and stalked around the group, slowly getting closer and closer.

" **Listen here**!" Pitch began, but stopped short at the sound of his own voice. It was... Different, somehow. It felt like instead of words, he had spoken strands of silver silk, edged with cold steel and embroidered with power and ferocity. His voice echoed from every corner of the alley, as if every shadow spoke his voice. The very atmosphere rippled as he spoke, like he could pull on their heartstrings just by talking. And the fear that poured to him from the three Skin-Shifters was exhilarating. They had even dropped Iago, who seemed to be in shock. So he continued.

" **That boy belongs to _ME_**!"

The shadows throbbed in time with his crescendos and thrashed with his movement, the horse trotting forward with the scythe's massive blade at his side.

" **If I ever catch you messing with _MY_ shapeshifter _AGAIN_ , I will personally feed you to my army, limb _BY_ limb**!" The blade punctuated his threat with a surge of light that sizzled like lightning, and he waved the weapon around them to his nightmares who whinnied in delight.

" **Run home, _DOGS_ , and tell your master that this boy is _BLOOD_ bonded to _ME_ , and if he wants him...**"

Here Pitch snarled, his golden eyes ablaze, and raised the scythe to a fighting stance.

" **Come and get him**."

At his final words, the nightmares cleared from behind them and lunged.

The skins melted to the humans, and a wolf, a bear, and a cougar darted towards the brightly lit street with their tails between their legs and a nightmare stampede right behind them. As they tumbled out of the alley, the solid forms dissipated and the sand swelled up like a wave. It toppled backwards with a crash, the sand splashing like water, swirling around a central point.

As the sand receded to the back of the alley, the three animals looked back just in time to see the golden eyes disappear behind the black grains, the powder melting into the shadows until not a trace of the Nightmare King and his shapeshifter remained.

The wolf turned back to his fellow beasts and whined, " _Master no like this_." The bear and cougar could do nothing but whimper in agreement.

* * *

Pitch had squeezed his eyes shut as they had traveled, not really thinking about where to go. The shadow realm was by no means relaxing, but it was like a second home to the shade, and right now... He needed the meager peace.

Pitch only exited because he knew that his passengers did not always fare well in the passage after long periods of time. So Pitch, with mild reluctance, quickly found a welcoming shadow and dragged them through it.

The shade emerged with a sigh, feeling Iago's body rise slightly in his arms as the boy gasped for fresh air. Pitch gently laid the child onto cold stone, then moved away as he glanced around their new surroundings.

To Pitch's surprise all too familiar rock formations met his gaze, winding stone stairs filling his vision. A tinge of excitement fluttered into his heart- he had brought them back to his lair. Pitch viewed this as a huge development for him considering... just a bit ago he could not even travel by the shadows.  
His excitement abated immediately when he glanced over at Iago. A look of concern replaced excitement when he caught sight of the still child curled in himself, the shifter unresponsive aside from the slight rise of his chest.

"Child?" Pitch strode quickly over, his hands clenched nervously in front of his chest. Had he dawdled too long in the shadows? Maybe the Hunt Brothers had done something?

"Child, come on now, you're safe here." His voice had returned to normal, a random, useless detail that took up too much space in his concerned mind before he could shove it away.

Pitch could not kneel to the child, the uncertainty of his discovery filling him with... apprehension.

Finally, Iago made a sound, one tiny sound, and it somehow managed to relieve and pain the Lord of Fear at the same time.

Iago quietly sobbed.

His state of shock had broken and he was still very much frightened by the near return to his living hell. The last time a child's fear had meant so much, it was the fear of Jamie Bennett. That fear had been for another cause, and never reached.

This fear…the fear of Iago Deci, Spirit of Deception, had no benefit for Pitch, and was never wanted.

However, no matter how he didn't want the sensation, being a fear spirit, the shade instinctively drank the true terror still radiating from the boy. It was to Pitch like wine is to the first taste, where the first timer finds it revolting and questions its existence, yet guiltily returns for another sip.

If Pitch could not stop himself from drinking the fear, could he perhaps cap the bottle, so to speak? Could he calm the child?

"Iago." Pitch tried, gently yet firmly demanding the shapeshifter's attention.

It was given without question, the blue-grey eyes blurry with tears and unfocused with panic.

Pitch knelt to the boy, who flinched and whimpered, but did not flee. He could not, even if he wanted to with the shackles and cuffs around his ankles and wrists. But Pitch sensed he didn't have the mental capacity to fathom running at this point either.

"Iago. They're gone. You're safe here." He summoned his sand and let it slink along the ground towards the child.

The tiny spirit did nothing in response but continue his labored breathing and watch as the sand crept into the binds and picked the locks, the metal snapping open with a vicious clink.

Iago gently withdrew his now freed hands and feet, staring at them as if he had thought they would never move again. Honestly, he might have been right, but Pitch was not going to voice that.

Instead, the shade rose with the metal binds, glaring at them as if they possessed the audacity to apply themselves, and clutching the chains until his knuckles were white. His unfocused, narrowed gaze snapped back to the present as Iago whimpered, no longer frozen in his human state by the cuffs, and morphing rapidly.

Those eyes were turned to him with that fear.

Pitch had not earned this terror that he was given, and he wasn't going to take it.

Casually, Pitch tossed the silver bands over the stone railing, where they fell until they vanished into the darkness below.

"They're not going to get you here, Iago." Pitch spoke with a softness he had not known he possessed. Iago settled into his human state once more, tears streaming down his dirty face.

"Th-they were gonna t-take me back..." Iago whispered shakily, and their gazes locked.

Pitch shook his head, his expression one of an unusual kind of seriousness.

"Never again, little one."

There was a pause between them as Iago recovered himself, rising to an upright position and wiping his eyes with his sleeves, sniffling.

Then the clip clop of hooves broke the silence, the massive nightmare Pitch had ridden on trotting up behind him.

Iago glanced up and froze in awe and amazement. "Wow..." Iago sniffled once more before standing, his head tilted back to peer at the long muzzle of the beast.  
Pitch turned as well, catching sight of the grey cloth held gently in the nightmare's teeth.

"Ah, yes, thank you Ebony." Pitch then stood, retrieving the riding cloak and opening it up for the little boy before him. "You kind of just left this here with me. So I decided to hang onto until..." Pitch shrugged lamely, concealing his relief when the boy scurried over to him.

"Th-thank you, M-mister Black."

On the outside, it would seem that Iago was thanking him for the immediate action as he gently took back his possession. But Pitch understood the deeper intention, and did not probe the subject further.

"It was no trouble at all, child."

The shapeshifter smiled up at him timidly before turning back to the beauty of a nightmare.

"C-can I pet it?" Pitch chuckled, nodding, and the tiny, shaking hand reached up to stroked the long muzzle.

"It's a beautiful nightmare, s-sir..."

* * *

*noisy nope rope- IF YOU CAN TELL ME WHAT THIS MEANS, YOU WILL GET... um... A Digital Cookie? A Digital Brownie? A Virtual Fistbump? Something. Just guess what a noisy nope rope. I'll give you a hint: Trash Pandas.

* * *

Who felt the feels? Lemme know! Till next time, SFo7D


	22. Author's Update

I know you all were expecting a new chapter out of me, and I know you must be even more disappointed to realize that this isn't really a chapter. It _is_ an important announcement, though. Until further notice, I will not be writing any more chapters- instead, I will be rewriting what is currently here. That's right- this story is under makeover. Don't fear, no characters or the plot line will expirence any changes. I'm simply adding details and dialogue here and there for clarity's sake. I feel major plot points were not clear, such as how Iago is Ignorance's missing slave from Chapter Three, or that Guardians have no idea that the dreaded shapeshifter is actually a child. I also felt that I was going quickly off character with a few canon cast, such as Pitch's capabilities of being sympathetic, and the lack of independence I've displayed in Jack. So, for the sake of rescuing and restoring this story, it is currently under rewrite. Please check in periodically for edits to the chapters.

Until then, this is SpritefireOf7Days, updating you.

P.S. Have no fear, I have not given up on this story. XD


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